THE  TWO   SALOMES 


H  IRovcl 


P,Y 
MARIA    LOUISE   POOL 

AUTHOR    OF 

ROWENY  IN  BOSTON"  "MRS.  KEATS  BRADFORD' 
"  DALLY"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

1393 


Copyright,  1893,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


TO 

CAROLINE  M.  BRANSON 

THIS  STORY 

Es  ZUefctcatefl 

WITH    THE    LOVE    OF 

MARIA    LOUISE    POOL 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  A  PROPOSAL I 

II.  TWO    KINDS    OF   LOVERS 17 

III.  ANTINOUS 36 

iv.  "SLEEPERS  AND  BUFFETS" 55 

V.  MISS   NUNALLY 74 

VI.  MR.   MAINE    "  FLAXING    ROUND" 94 

VII.  AN    AMANUENSIS 114 

vin.  "MATERIAL" 132 

ix.  "FOR  LOVE" 153 

X.  A   LITTLE  TENNIS 171 

XI.  CONFESSION iSg 

XII.  THE   MOTHER 2O8 

XIII.  AN   ENGAGEMENT 227 

XIV.  TOUCHING   TRUTHFULNESS 247 

XV.  "HOW   SHOULD    YOU   THINK   OF   YOURSELF?"     .      .  264 

XVI.  QUESTIONING 283 

XVII.  TIRED 301 

XVIII.  "AND   NOW    THERE   IS   NOTHING   BETWEEN   US  "      .  319 

XIX.  "AS   FOR   ME,    I   LOVE   HIM   NOT" 338 

XX.  "HE   WILL   COME   BACK?" 358 


THE  TWO  SALOMES 


A    PROPOSAL 

"HAVE  they  found  out  yet  what's  the  matter  of 
Salome  Gerry  ?" 

"Yes;  I  heard  Mis'  West  tell  what  the  doctor 
from  Boston  said  it  was." 

This  reply  was  given  with  an  air  of  some  impor 
tance,  and  the  speaker  waited  to  be  questioned  still 
further  before  divulging  what  she  knew  about  the  ail 
ments  of  Salome  Gerry. 

"Well,"  was  the  somewhat  impatient  response, 
"ain't  you  goin'  to  tell?  I  s'pose  'tain't  no  secret. 
Not  that  doctors  know  much  of  anything ;  though  'tis 
a  relief  to  have  urn  take  the  responsibility  off  your 
shoulders  when  you  have  sickness  in  the  fam'ly.  I 
remember  when  Elnathan  was  took  with  the  fever  'n' 
ague  the  first  time,  his  mother — she  was  stoppin'  with 
us  that  fall — would  stick  to  it  that  she'd  doctor  him 
herself.  'N1  I  remember — 

The  two  other  women  present  here  exchanged 
glances  of  despairing  commiseration,  and  one  of  them 
exclaimed,  desperately : 

"  We  all  know  't  Elnathan's  mother  was  an  awful 


2  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

good  miss.  There  wa'n't  nobody  like  her.  Folks 
used  to  come  from  all  over  for  her  if  anybody  was 
taken  sick." 

Then  the  third  woman  hastened  to  ask  again  : 

"  What  'd  the  doctor  from  Boston  say  about  S'lome 
Gerry,  anyway  ?  She's  ben  kind  of  pindlin'  s'long  I 
sh'd  think  her  folks  'd  be  almost  discouraged." 

"  I  guess  they  be.  'N'  I  should  think  they'd  feel 
worse  now  they  know  what  'tis  that  ails  her,"  with 
still  more  importance. 

"  I  s'pose  you'll  tell  when  you  git  ready,"  now 
said  the  thin-faced  Mrs.  Lamkin,  hunching  her  high 
shoulders  yet  higher  in  her  irritation. 

Mrs.  Sprague  responded  that  she  was  just  as  ready 
now  as  she  ever  should  be,  and  she  didn't  know  as 
she  was  keeping  anything  back.  The  two  other 
women  were  aware  of  a  keen  apprehension  lest  Mrs. 
Sprague  should  again  refer  to  Elnathan's  mother  and 
her  capabilities  as  a  nurse.  Elnathan  was  Mrs. 
Sprague's  husband,  consequently  Elnathan's  mother 
stood  in  the  relation  of  mother-in-law  to  Elnathan's 
wife.  And  to  be  mother-in-law  to  "she  that  was  Em- 
meline  Rusk,"  was  to  stand  in  a  position  requiring 
great  gifts  of  tact  and  amiability. 

"  Mis'  West  said  the  doctor  from  Boston,"  now  be 
gan  Mrs.  Sprague,  "  told  the  Gerryses  that  Salome 
had  incipient  thigh-sis." 

"Mercy!"  cried  Mrs.  Lamkin,  sharply,  "what's 
thigh-sis  ?  Is  it  ketchin'  ?" 

"  Incipient  thigh-sis,  I  said,"  corrected  Mrs.  Sprague. 
And  she  added,  more  carelessly,  "I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  whether  it's  ketchin'  or  not.  But  I  guess  'tain't, 
or  the  rest  of  the  Gerryses  would  have  had  it  long  ago." 

The  third  woman,  whose  name  was  Scudder,  and  who 


A    PROPOSAL  3 

had  thick  gray  hair  arranged  in  long  folds  on  each 
side  of  her  face,  and  whose  large,  protruding  eyes 
were  of  the  same  gray  as  her  hair,  now  said  gently 
that  she  s'posed  it  must  be  some  new  disease.  Folks 
were  getting  up  new  diseases  real  often  nowadays. 
For  her  part,  she  thought  the  old  ones  were  more  than 
anybody  could  manage. 

Here  she  chuckled  quietly.  She  drew  the  folds  of 
her  brown  "  Stella  shawl "  higher  over  her  ample 
shoulders,  and  inquired  if  the  doctor  told  the  Gerryses 
what  to  do  'bout  S'lome. 

Again  Mrs.  Sprague  quoted  Mrs.  West  as  her  au 
thority.  Mrs.  West  had  said  that  S'lome's  mother  was 
all  broke  down  about  it. 

"  If  'twas  my  girl,"  went  on  Mrs.  Sprague,  with  de 
cision,  "  I  should  call  it  consumption,  or  something 
that  would  be  consumption  in  time.  But  if  anybody'd 
ruther  have  thigh-sis,  why,  let  'em  have  it." 

"Are  they  going  to  do  nothing  about  it?"  asked 
Mrs.  Scudder,  in  her  soft  way. 

"  Mis'  West  said  the  doctor  said  medicine  wa'n't 
of  no  count  in  such  cases,"  continued  Mrs.  Sprague. 
"  He  said  the  winters  here  were  too  severe  for  her. 
He  advised  'em  to  take  her  to  Floridy." 

"  Gracious !"  said  Mrs.  Lamkin.  "  To  Floridy  ?  They 
can't  do  it,  can  they?  Her  father  ain't  very  'fore 
handed.  I  don't  believe  he's  got  a  cent  in  the  bank." 

"  Td  know,  I'm  sure.  Mis'  West  said  she  under 
stood  they  were  goin'  to  try  to  send  S'lome  and  her 
mother  some  way  or  other." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  responded  Mrs.  Lamkin,  sitting 
up  very  straight  in  her  surprise.  "  I  don't  see  how 
they're  goin'  to  do  it.  They'll  have  to  moggiclge  their 
place,  won't  they?" 


4  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  If  they  do  moggidge,  I  for  one  can't  see  how 
they'll  ever  lift  the  moggidge.  Mr.  Gerry  never  was 
so  scrabblin'  as  he  might  be.'' 

"  Mebby  the  church'll  help  'em  some,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Scudder,  now  taking  out  the  long  pin  with  which 
she  had  just  fastened  her  shawl. 

"Well,  then,  you  jest  bet  the  church  won't,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Sprague.  "  The  church's  got  enough  to  do  with 
foreign  missions,  'n'  rasin'  the  minister's  salary,  'n' 
the  bell's  cracked,  too,  you  know.  It  sounds  awful 
when  they  ring  it.  I'm  ashamed  every  Sabbath  to 
have  the  Baptists,  'n'  the  folks  that  don't  go  to  meet- 
in'  anywhere,  hear  our  bell.  We  don't  think  enough 
of  the  Lord's  work." 

Mrs.  Scudder  did  not  wish  to  continue  the  subject 
of  the  cracked  bell,  so  she  ignored  the  words  referring 
to  it.  She  asked  : 

"If  S'lome  Gerry  goes  to  Floridy  what'll  become  of 
her  beau  ?" 

Mrs.  Lamkin  here  gave  a  little  shrill  laugh,  and  in 
quired, 

"Which  beau  you  mean?" 

"  I  didn't  know  she  had  more'n  one  reg'lar  beau, 
and  that's  Dick  Chapin,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  Now,  I  should  have  said  'twas  Walter  Redd,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Lamkin. 

Then  the  three  women  looked  at  each  other  and 
began  to  laugh. 

It  was  Mrs.  Scudder  who  ceased  laughing  first.  She 
found  her  pocket  in  the  folds  of  her  skirt,  and  drew 
her  handkerchief  from  it.  She  carefully  wiped  the 
corners  of  her  mouth.  Then  she  patted  the  large  bow 
in  which  the  ribbons  of  her  bonnet  were  tied.  For 
she  and  Mrs.  Sprague  were  making  a  "  set  call "  on 


A    PROPOSAL  5 

Mrs.  Lamkin.  And  in  a  set  call  people  always  wear 
their  Sunday  bonnets. 

Mrs.  Scudder  also  had  on  her  best  gloves.  They 
were  of  black  kid,  worn  white  on  the  tops  of  the  rin 
gers  and  thumbs.  They  were  also  somewhat  baggy 
across  the  back.  But  the  wearer  of  them  was  con 
scious  of  being  much  dressed.  And  this  consciousness 
surely  is  among  the  first  effects  to  be  desired  from 
wearing  clothes. 

Mrs.  Sprague  wore  a  black  cape,  with  square  ends 
in  the  front  and  a  deep  point  behind.  It  was  lined 
with  black  flannel,  and  since  gimp  had  come  into 
fashion  again  for  trimming,  the  narrow  folds  which 
had  once  adorned  it  had  been  removed  to  give  place 
to  the  gimp.  The  garment  was  now  considered  as 
specially  appropriate  for  spring  and  fall  wear. 

Mrs.  Sprague  did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Lamkin  had 
once  told  an  intimate  friend  that  she  thought  Emme- 
line  Sprague  looked  like  the  Old  Harry  in  that 
cape. 

It  may  be  called  a  wise  arrangement  of  the  universe 
that  we  are  usually  ignorant  of  such  little  remarks 
made  by  our  friends  concerning  us.  Ignorance  is 
sometimes  a  great  strengthener  of  friendly  feeling. 

After  they  had  all  laughed  concerning  Salome  Gerry's 
beau,  the  three  made  an  attempt  to  talk  about  a  new 
recipe  for  sweet  pickle  which  Mrs.  Lamkin  had  been 
making.  That  lady  went  into  the  buttery  and  came 
back  with  two  pink  sauce  plates.  Each  plate  held  a 
teaspoon  and  some  of  the  sweet  pickle. 

The  two  callers  tasted  with  grave  deliberation. 

"It's  a  grain  too  clovey,  ain't  it?"  anxiously  inquired 
Mrs.  Lamkin,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  I  should  say,"  said  Mrs.  Sprague,  "  that  it  was  a 


G  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

little,  just  a  little,  too  sharp  with  vinegar.  I  guess  your 
vinegar's  got  ruther  strong  by  this  time,  ain't  it,  Mis' 
Lamkin  ?  What  do  you  think,  Mis'  Scudder  ?'' 

Mrs.  Scudder  was  pressing  her  lips  critically  togeth 
er.  She  waited  a  minute  before  replying. 

"I  call  it  jest  exactly  right  for  cloves,"  she  said. 
"But  I  guess  you  used  brown  sugar,  didn't  you  ?'' 

Mrs.  Lamkin  confessed  that  she  had  done  so. 

"  That's  it !"  triumphantly  exclaimed  Mrs.  Scudder. 
"  I  always  use  granulated.  'Tain't  none  too  good.  But 
this  is  first-rate,  Mis'  Lamkin  ;  I  don't  find  no  fault 
with  it." 

As  if  to  emphasize  her  words,  Mrs.  Scudder  took 
another  and  quite  liberal  taste  of  the  concoction  upon 
the  plate  which  she  held  between  her  gloved  fingers. 
She  had  a  sense  of  being  very  "dressy,"  holding  the 
plate  in  that  way. 

"  I  was  goin'  to  send  some  over  to  the  Gerryses," 
said  Mrs.  Lamkin,  "they  all  like  it  so,  and  Mis'  Gerry 
ain't  had  no  chance  to  make  preserves  nor  nothin' 
this  fall,  she's  been  so  worried,  she  told  me.  She 
thought  mebby  S'lome  would  come  over  this  after 
noon,  'n'  if  she  did  I  was  goin'  to  have  her  carry  back 
some  of  this.  But,  p'raps,  bein'  made  with  brown 
sugar,  so,  Mis'  Scudder,  'tain't  what  one  would  like  to 
send  to  a  neighbor." 

The  speaker  looked  with  a  challenging  humility  at 
the  large  face  framed  in  the  gray  hair.  The  owner  of 
the  face  and  the  hair  smiled  indulgently. 

"  Lor',"  said  Mrs.  Scudder,  "  you  know  better  than 
to  talk  like  that.  But  is  S'lome  able  to  be  out  this 
weather  ?  There  was  a  white  frost  last  night,  even 
on  the  uplands." 

"Oh,  she  ain't  so  low  as  that,"  was   the   answer. 


A    PROPOSAL  *- 

"  She  seems  to  be  pretty  well  a  good  deal  of  the  time. 
She  goes  everywhere.  She's  real  cheerful." 

Mrs.  Sprague  shook  her  head  when  she  heard  this 
last  remark. 

"  It's  a  bad  sign  for  consumptive  folks  to  be  cheer 
ful,"  she  asserted.  "  For  my  part,  I'd  ruther  see  um 
blue  as  indigo." 

Here  she  happened  to  glance  through  the  window. 
She  started. 

"  Who  be  they  ?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

They  all  looked  eagerly  into  the  road.  Coining 
down  the  hill,  sauntering  slowly  in  the  late  October 
sunshine,  were  two  people,  a  girl  and  a  young  man. 
They  were  not  talking,  and  they  were  not  walking 
near  each  other,  nevertheless  there  was  an  undefin- 
able  air  of  intimate  acquaintance  about  them. 

"  I  declare  if  that  ain't  S'lome  herself !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Lamkin.  "  I  guess  I'll  thump  on  the  winder, 
and  ask  her  to  take  home  some  of  the  sweet  pickle. 
What  feller  is  that  with  her  ?" 

"  It's  Dick  Chapin.  He  wears  a  blue  suit  like 
that,"  promptly  answered  Mrs.  Sprague. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Lamkin  had  "  thumped  on  the 
winder,"  and  the  two  in  the  highway  had  paused  and 
looked  up  at  the  house.  The  woman  beckoned  vigor 
ously. 

The  girl  said  a  few  words  to  her  companion,  then 
she  walked  quickly  up  the  path  to  the  door.  The 
young  man  did  not  follow  her.  He  lounged  against 
the  fence,  waiting. 

The  next  moment  the  door  of  the  sitting-room 
opened  and  Salome  Gerry  entered. 

The  three  women  looked  at  her  with  the  most  in 
tense  interest.  She  was  not  only  Salome,  the  girl 


5  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

whom  they  had  seen  grow  up  among  them,  she  was  a 
person  who  was  said  by  a  doctor  from  Boston  to  have 
incipient  phthisis,  and  who  was  consequently  recom 
mended  to  go  to  Florida. 

Perhaps  the  girl  felt  something  peculiar  in  their 
glances,  but  she  bore  the  scrutiny  with  considerable 
fortitude. 

She  had  a  slight,  lithe  figure,  and  a  thin,  sensitive 
face — a  face  that  looked  as  if  it  would  flush  easily, 
and  one  was  greatly  surprised  to  know,  on  acquaint 
ance,  that  it  did  not  thus  flush.  Acquaintance  also 
revealed  that,  instead  of  the  skin's  showing  any  emo 
tion,  the  eyes  had  a  way  of  suddenly  kindling  with  a 
quick,  rising  fire,  and  then  as  suddenly  becoming  calm 
again.  But  she  was  a  very  calm  looking  girl  now  as 
she  stood  just  within  the  sitting-room.  She  smiled  at 
Mrs.  Lamkin,  who  hastened  to  say : 

"  I'm  real  glad  I  saw  you,  S'lome,  for  I  was  jest 
wondering  how  I  should  send  some  of  my  sweet  pickle 
to  your  mother.  I  know  she's  awful  fond  of  it  when 
it's  made  of  them  Bicknell  pears,  as  mine  is.  I'm 
going  to  put  some  in  a  pail.  Se'  down  a  minute, 
S'lome." 

The  girl  walked  towards  the  nearest  chair  and 
placed  herself  in  it. 

"  Mother'll  be  ever  so  much  obliged,"  she  said, 
cordially.  "  It's  so  good  of  you,  Mrs.  Lamkin,  to  think 
of  it." 

Mrs.  Lamkin  turned  at  the  door  and  looked  at  Sa 
lome,  smiling  as  she  did  so,  and  her  smile  was  differ 
ent  from  those  she  had  given  her  "  set  callers." 

"  I  guess  I  sha'n't  hurt  myself  with  goodness," 
she  responded ;  "  you  needn't  worry  about  that  one 
bit." 


A    PROPOSAL  9 

Whereupon  she  disappeared  through  the  door  which 
led  into  the  kitchen. 

The  two  women  remaining  continued  to  gaze  at 
Salome,  who  made  some  remark  about  the  frost  of 
the  night  previous.  The  two  responded  to  it  in  an 
undefined  murmur. 

Mrs.  Scuclder  made  a  movement  as  if  she  were 
drawing  her  gloves  on  still  farther.  But  she  kept  her 
gaze  on  Salome.  At  last  she  could  be  silent  no 
longer. 

"  Mis'  West  was  tellin'  Mis'  Sprague,"  she  said, 
"  that  your  folks  had  had  a  doctor  out  from  Boston 
to  see  you,  S'lome." 

"  Yes,  mother  and  father  both  thought  best  to  have 
Dr.  Bowdoin,"  answered  the  girl. 

"  Wa'n't  it  dretful  expensive  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Sprague,  with  ill-concealed  eagerness. 

"  Yes,  it  was.  But  they  said  they  shouldn't  feel 
easy  if  they  didn't  have  him.  They  said  they  felt 
they  could  have  confidence  in  what  he  said." 

"  Do  you  know  how  much  he  did  charge  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Sprague,  bending  forward  a  little  as  she  spoke. 

"  Father  didn't  tell  me,"  was  the  reply. 

The  girl  did  not  add  that  Mr.  Gerry  had  purposely 
refrained  from  giving  this  information  so  that  his 
daughter  should  not  be  able  to  gratify  just  this  kind 
of  curiosity. 

Mrs.  Sprague  sank  back  in  her  chair.  She  drew 
the  ends  of  her  cape  closely  about  her. 

Salome  laughed  slightly  as  she  now  said  : 

"  Father  told  me  he  was  glad  his  cranberry  crop 
had  turned  out  so  well  this  year,  for  he  didn't  feel 
half  so  extravagant  having  Dr.  Bowdoin." 

"  It  must  be  kind  of  hard  for  your  father  to  make 


10  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

both  ends  meet,"  now  remarked  Mrs.  Scudder,  her 
purring  voice  expressing  a  great  appearance  of  sym 
pathy.  "And  you  not  able  to  earn  anything,  S'lome." 

The  girl  dropped  her  eyes  suddenly.  There  was  a 
perceivable  space  of  time  before  she  replied,  still  with 
lowered  eyes. 

"  It's  a  great  trial  to  me  that  I  can't  earn  anything," 
she  said. 

"  To  be  sure,"  quickly  responded  Mrs.  Sprague,  in 
a  hearty  voice.  "  My  Lizzie  always  said  she  was  aw 
ful  sorry  for  you.  She  said  you  was  as  ambitious  as 
any  girl  she  knew." 

Salome's  eyelashes  flashed  up.  She  looked  at  the 
woman  who  had  spoken  thus.  She  was  going  to  re 
ply,  but  Mrs.  Scudder  asked  immediately  : 

"  Is  it  true  what  Mis'  West  said  'bout  your  bein' 
ordered  to  Floridy  ?" 

"  It's  true  that  the  doctor  said  he  thought  it  would 
cure  me  to  go  there  this  fall  and  stay  till  June,"  she 
answered. 

"  I  don't  see  how  your  folks  can  do  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Scudder.  "  Be  they  goin'  to  try?" 

"  I  think  they  will."  Here  Salome  moved  her  hands 
with  a  quick,  impatient  movement  in  her  lap.  She 
pressed  a  little  ring  she  wore  on  her  slender  third 
finger  up  over  the  knuckle,  then  back  again.  "  Father 
and  mother  both  said,"  she  began,  "  that  they'd 
rather  spend  all  they  had  than  to  have  me  ill. 
If  they  could  help  me  they  didn't  think  anything  of 
the  money — and  then,"  here  she  began  to  speak  rap 
idly  and  with  only  a  partially  subdued  eagerness, 
"  and  then  if  I  get  well  I  can  work  and  earn  money 
myself,  and  I  could  make  it  all  good  to  them.  Not 
that  they'd  want  me  to,  but  I  should  like  to  do  it." 


A    PROPOSAL  II 

Into  Mrs.  Scuclder's  large  light  eyes,  fixed  intently 
as  they  were  on  the  girl,  there  came  a  moisture  that 
made  them  for  the  instant  look  larger  and  bluer  than 
usual.  In  her  own  mind  she  was  thinking  she  was 
a  fool  to  let  herself  be  touched  by  Lyman  Gerry's 
daughter.  It  wasn't  any  worse  for  Lyman  Gerry's 
daughter  to  be  threatened  with  consumption,  if  that 
was  what  it  was,  than  for  any  other  girl.  And  per 
haps  there  didn't  much  ail  the  child,  anyway.  She 
certainly  didn't  look  very  sick,  only  not  rugged. 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  gettin'  married,"  Mrs.  Scudder  re 
sponded,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak  in  her  ordinary 
tone. 

Salome  only  made  a  slight  dissenting  and  almost 
contemptuous  gesture  with  one  hand  in  reply  to  this 
remark. 

Mrs.  Lamkin  now  entered  with  a  very  shiny  three- 
pint  pail  in  her  hand.  She  would  not  offer  the  pail  to 
the  girl,  lest  the  movement  might  be  taken  as  a  hint 
for  her  to  go  ;  she  therefore  placed  it  on  the  table. 

''  Do  you  really  think  you  sh'll  go  to  Floridy?"  she 
asked,  with  something  like  awe  in  her  interest. 

"Yes;  but  it's  all  uncertain  yet.  Father  said  he 
should  know  in  a  day  or  two.  He's  got  some  ar 
rangements  to  make." 

The  three  women  sat  in  profound  silence  for  a  few 
moments.  It  was  impressive  to  be  in  the  presence  of 
a  girl  who  actually  expected  to  go  "  down  South." 

"  You  ain't  goin'  alone,  I  s'pose  ?"  Mrs.  Lamkin 
suggested. 

"  Oh  no  ;  mother'll  go  if  I  do.  We  shall  have  to 
go  as  cheaply  as  we  can,  you  know.  We  shall  have 
to  manage."  Here  she  smiled,  as  she  added:  "But 
we  are  Yankees,  and  we  ought  to  be  able  to  manage." 


12  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  Don't  you  dread  it?"  inquired  one. 

Salome  rose.  She  moved  to  the  table  and  took  the 
tin  pail. 

"  Dread  it !"  she  exclaimed.  "No,  indeed.  I  long 
to  go."  She  turned  to  her  hostess.  "  I'm  afraid 
you've  robbed  yourself,  Mrs.  Lamkin,"  she  said;  "this 
pail  is  full." 

"  No,  I  ain't.  But  don't  you  be  in  a  hurry — or  are 
you  afraid  your  beau'll  git  tired  of  waiting?" 

"  My  beau  ?"  repeated  Salome.  "  Oh,  you  mean 
Dick  Chapin.  No  ;  he  won't  get  tired.  He  likes  to 
wait.  Mother'll  be  so  glad  of  this  sweet  pickle ! 
Good-bye." 

Salome  walked  quickly  out  of  the  room. 

The  three  women  immediately  rose  and  went  to  the 
windows,  being  careful  to  stand  back  a  little,  so  that 
they  would  not  be  seen  in  case  either  of  the  young 
people  outside  should  glance  at  the  house.  But  they 
did  not  glance  that  way. 

Dick  Chapin  raised  himself  from  the  gate  against 
which  he  had  been  resting.  He  stepped  forward  and 
took  the  tin  pail. 

"Well,  what  did  the  Lamkin  woman  want?"  he 
asked. 

"  She  wanted  to  send  mother  that  pickle.  But  what 
they  wanted  most  of  all  was  to  find  out  how  much' Dr. 
Bowdoin  charged  for  coming  here  from  Boston,  and  if 
I'm  going  to  Florida." 

Young  Chapin  gave  a  disdainful  sniff,  and  he  swung 
the  pail  in  a  way  dangerous  to  its  contents. 

"  They  ?"  he  asked — "  who's  they  ?  Did  the  Lam 
kin  have  company  ?" 

"  She  had  callers  with  go-to-meeting  bonnets  on — 
Mrs.  Sprague  and  Mrs.  Scudder." 


A    PROPOSAL  13 

"  Mrs.  Scudder  is  an  old  cat !  Did  she  purr  at  you 
or  scratch  you  ?" 

As  the  young  man  put  this  question  he  turned  and 
looked  solicitously  at  his  companion. 

But  Salome  did  not  seem  to  see  the  look.  She  was 
walking  with  a  serious  air,  with  her  gaze  fixed  direct 
ly  in  front  of  her. 

At  last  Dick  turned  away,  with  a  disappointed  ex 
pression  growing  on  his  face. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  know  I'm  with  you,"  he  said, 
sharply. 

"  I  know  you're  spilling  that  sweet  pickle,"  she  an 
swered,  making  a  spring  towards  the  pail  and  seizing  it. 

"  Oh,  confound  the  old  stuff !"  he  responded.  "  You 
think  more  of  that  than  you  do  of  me." 

"  Mother  thinks  more  of  it,"  Salome  answered. 
She  glanced  into  his  eyes  as  she  added,  "  and  it's 
made  of  Bicknell  pears,  too." 

As  he  met  her  glance  the  young  fellow  flushed  up 
to  his  hair.  He  laughed  ;  he  half  stopped  in  his  walk 
and  then  made  a  step  nearer  Salome,  who  did  not 
pause,  but  who  continued  to  go  straight  on. 

"  Of  course  I  want  your  mother  to  like  me,"  he 
began. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  interrupted  the  girl.  "  You'd 
better.  Mother  can  see  right  through  anybody." 

Dick  gave  a  half  groan.  "  I  wish  you  could  see 
right  through  me,  S'lome." 

He  waited  a  little;  then  he  asked,  "Don't  you  want 
to  know  why  I  wish  so?" 

Salome  shook  her  head.  "  No  ;  I  never  did  have 
much  curiosity." 

"  Curiosity !  Oh,  S'lome,  you're  awful  hard  on  a 
fellow  !" 


14  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Salome  laughed  in  the  most  cheerful  manner.  Her 
laugh  was  interrupted  by  a  slight  cough. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I'm  hard  on  you  just  because  I 
don't  want  to  see  through  you,"  she  remarked. 

Dick  Chapin's  rosy,  comfortable  face  was  very  mel 
ancholy  as  he  kept  it  turned  towards  his  companion. 

"  Oh,  S'lome  !"  he  cried,  "  you  are  just  like  ice  and 
iron  and  stones,  and  all  those  horrid  things.  I  can't 
melt  you  a  bit;  I  can't  stand  it— I  can't!  And  now 
you're  going  down  South,  and  I  might  just  as  well  go 
and  hang  myself  first  as  last." 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  wouldn't  hang  myself,  if  I  were 
you,"  responded  Salome,  maintaining  her  cheerful 
ness.  "You  might  be  awful  sorry  if  you  did." 

"  Well,  if  I  was  sorry  I  shouldn't  know  it ;  there  'd 
be  that  comfort  in  it,"  said  the  young  man  ;  and  then 
he  added,  with  great  unction,  "  the  main  thing  would 
be  to  make  you  sorry,  S'lome." 

The  girl  laughed  again,  but  she  made  no  other  reply. 

After  a  long  silence,  during  which  the  pail  of  sweet 
pickle  was  once  more  nearly  wrecked  and  once  more 
rescued,  Dick  Chapin  suddenly  paused  in  the  middle 
of  the  dusty  highway.  There  was  so  much  emphasis 
in  the  way  he  stood  still  that  his  companion  instantly 
paused  also  and  turned  inquiringly  towards  him. 

The  sunlight  fell  over  the  girl  and  full  upon  her 
face,  intensifying  its  lovely,  youthful  tinge,  and  sharp 
ening  the  delicate  outlines. 

"Well?"  she  said,  a  little  impatiently. 

"  I  can't  stand  it !"  said  Dick  Chapin,  in  a  tone 
which  was  almost  ferocious,  and  which  contrasted 
comically  with  his  round  face. 

Salome  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly  in  a  way 
she  had,  which  was  not  in  the  least  a  Yankee  way. 


A    PROPOSAL  15 

"I'm  sorry  you  can't  stand  it,"  she  said,  "but  I 
don't  know  what's  going  to  be  done  about  it." 

"  I  know  what's  to  be  done,  S'lome,  and  you've  got 
to  do  it." 

"Oh?"  questioningly  from  the  girl.  "Is  that  so? 
Why,  Dick,  I  never  knew  you  so  mysterious  before, 
nor  so  interesting." 

"  I'm  glad  I'm  interesting,"  said  Dick,  "  and  I  hope 
I  shall  grow  more  and  more  so ;  because  you've  got 
to  promise  to  marry  me,  S'lome." 

On  the  last  sentence  Dick's  voice  sank  so  as  to  be 
almost  inaudible. 

He  put  forth  his  disengaged  hand  and  grasped  the 
girl's  arm.  She  stood  quite  still,  not  attempting  to 
move  from  his  hold. 

She  was  thinking  that  it  was  the  first  time  any  man 
had  ever  asked  to  be  engaged  to  her,  and  that  the 
moment  was  not  thrilling  in  the  least.  But  perhaps 
that  was  because  Dick  Chapin  had  a  tin  pail  of  sweet 
pickle  in  one  hand.  She  wished  he  had  put  that  pail 
down  ;  it  made  him  ridiculous. 

"You've  got  to,  S'lome,"  he  repeated. 

"Oh  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  almost  involuntarily; 
"  why  don't  you  drop  that  pail  ?" 

Dick's  jaw  fell  at  the  irrelevancy  of  this  remark, 
fie  knew  in  an  indefinite  manner  that  girls  were  the 
strangest  things  in  the  world.  Just  now  he  felt  that 
it  was  useless  to  try  to  understand  any  of  them,  par 
ticularly  Salome  Gerry. 

"  The  pail  ?"  he  gasped  ;  "  why,  I  thought  you  were 
specially  careful  about  this  sweet  pickle,  'cause  your 
mother  likes  it." 

"  But  it  makes  you  ridiculous,"  she  retorted  swiftly. 
"  You've  no  idea  how  you  look,  standing  there  pro- 


1 6  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

posing  to  me  with  that  three -pint  bucket  of  Mrs. 
Lamkin's,  and  your  face  as  round  and — and  rosy  as 
if  you  were  asking  me  the  price  of  apples." 

"  Gracious  !"  gasped  Dick.  Then  he  began  to  ex 
plain  that  he  could  feel  just  as  much  as  if  his  face 
were  a  yard  long,  and  he  thought  she  was  as  cruel  as 
she  could  be;  and  he  hoped  she  knew  what  she  meant, 
for  he'd  be  dumbed  if  he  knew  anything  about  it. 

At  this  stage  in  his  remarks  Salome  made  the  as 
sertion  that  she  didn't  mean  anything. 

"  Then  I  wish  you  wouldn't  happen  to  choose  such 
kind  of  words,  as  long  as  you  don't  mean  'em,"  he  re 
torted. 

She  began  to  walk  rapidly  now. 

In  a  few  moments  they  reached  a  place  where  there 
was  a  gap  in  the  wall  from  which  a  much-worn  path 
led  across  a  field. 

The  two  turned  towards  this  gap. 

"  There's  no  need  of  your  coming  any  farther,"  she 
said. 

"  I  don't  expect  there  is,"  he  replied,  "but  I'm  com 
ing  all  the  same  ;  and  I'm  going  to  set  my  pail  down 
on  that  flat  stone  by  the  pine-tree.  I  can  set  it  down, 
and  I  guess  you  can  make  my  face  long  enough  if  you 
go  on  this  way.  When  we  get  to  that  pine-tree,  S'lome, 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  again  to  marry  me.  This  is  one 
of  the  things  I  know  my  own  mind  about,  and  I'm  go 
ing  to  know  yours,  too." 


II 

TWO    KINDS    OF    LOVERS 

FOR  the  first  time  in  her  acquaintance  with  Dick 
Chapin,  Salome  forgot  to  think  that  he  was  not  tall 
enough,  and  that  he  looked  too  much  like  a  girl. 
She  gave  him  a  side  glance  which  was  full  of  curios 
ity.  She  walked  demurely  by  his  side  with  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  pine-tree  as  the  spot  where  her  com 
panion  was  again  going  to  propose  to  her.  It  was 
all  very  funny,  but  her  face  was  now  set  in  a  some 
what  puritanical  expression,  which  was  often  visible 
upon  it. 

It  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  Dick  would  want 
to  become  engaged  to  her.  Her  mind  did  not  go 
further  at  present  than  an  engagement.  Yes,  it  cer 
tainly  was  funny. 

And  here  was  the  pine-tree. 

As  Dick  leaned  forward  to  set  his  pail  down,  the 
girl  said,  hastily : 

"  I  guess  we  ought  to  be  going  right  along." 

"  And  I  guess  we  can  stay  a  minute,"  he  answered, 
"and  p'raps  I  sha'n't  have  another  chance." 

He  had  carefully  placed  the  sweet  pickle  on  a 
flat  stone,  and  had  assured  himself  that  it  would  not 
"joggle,"  as  he  said,  inwardly.  Then  he  stood  up 
quite  straight. 

Salome  continued  to  look  like  a  little  Puritan,  but 


1 8  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

she  felt  a  distressful  inclination  to  laugh  and  to  ask 
Dick  Chapin  if  he  might  not  better  take  ether.  This 
idea  of  taking  ether  became  so  prominent  in  her 
mind  that  she  was  almost  afraid  she  should  grow 
hysterical  if  the  interview  continued  many  minutes 
longer.  But  her  aspect  revealed  nothing  of  this  in 
clination. 

"  I  want  you  to  be  engaged  to  me." 

Young  Chapin  spoke  in  a  voice  which  was  rather 
loud,  from  his  desire  to  make  it  impressive.  Before 
he  could  be  answered  he  went  on  still  more  loudly: 

"  Now  you're  going  to  Florida  you'll  be  seeing  lots 
of  fellows,  and  I  want  this  thing  understood  before 
you  start.  We  can  be  married  when  you  come  back, 
you  know  ;  and  we  can  write  to  each  other.  It'll  be 
awful  hard  on  me  to  have  you  gone,  but  we  can  write. 
Do  you  know  how  long  it  takes  for  a  letter  to  go  ?" 

Salome  had  now  almost  turned  her  back  upon  him. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  she  answered. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "I  should  think  we  might 
write  once  a  week,  shouldn't  you  ?'' 

Notwithstanding  the  assurance  in  the  words  he 
used  the  young  man's  appearance  was  anything  but 
assured.  His  hands,  shut  tightly,  hung  down  by  his 
side ;  his  eyes  were  strained,  and  he  bent  forward 
with  a  piteous  air  towards  the  girl,  who  did  not  look 
at  him  at  all  now. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  might  write  once  a  week  ?"  he 
repeated,  not  speaking  so  loudly,  and  feeling  that 
there  was  something  not  very  encouraging  in  Salome's 
shoulder  and  back. 

Salome  was  gradually  recovering  from  that  hysteri 
cal  inclination  to  laugh. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  want  to  talk  like  this,"  she 


TWO    KINDS    OF   LOVERS  19 

said  at  last,  now  turning  fully  towards  him.  "  I'm  not 
going  to  be  engaged  to  you." 

"  Why  not  ?"  sharply. 

"  Because — because  it  wouldn't  be  right." 

She  spoke  hesitatingly,  and  looked  entreatingly  at 
him  as  if  to  ask  him  not  to  say  any  more.  She  was 
beginning  to  be  extremely  uncomfortable.  The  only 
clear  idea  in  her  mind  now  was  to  do  what  was  ex 
actly  right. 

"  Yes,  'twill,  too  !"  he  cried,  eagerly.  "  It'll  be  just 
right.  Say  you'll  be  engaged  to  me — do  !" 

"  But  I  sha'n't." 

The  reply  came  with  what  seemed  a  cruel  abrupt 
ness. 

The  young  man  shrank  back  a  step. 

"Oh,  S'lome,  you  can't  mean  that,"  he  said;  "why 
won't  you  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  make  me  tell  ?"  she  answer 
ed.  "  Do  you  think  I  like  to  tell  ?" 

She  was  gazing  at  him  solemnly  now.  There  was 
no  color  in  her  face,  save  that  her  lips  were  so  scarlet 
that  the  delicate  skin  seemed  too  thin  to  keep  the 
vivid  blood  within  it. 

Dick  Chapin  again  nearly  groaned.  "  How  do  I 
know  what  you  like?"  he  cried  out.  "But  I  know 
awful  well  what  I  like  and  what  I  want." 

Salome's  face  grew  even  more  intensely  solemn. 

"  I  wish  you'd  stop  talking  that  way,  Dick  Chapin," 
she  said,  "  for  I  don't  love  you  the  least  bit  in  the 
world.  That's  why  it  would  be  wrong  to  be  engaged 
to  you.  You  see  you've  made  me  tell  you  right  out." 

It  was  a  moment  before  Dick  spoke.  Then  he 
asked,  in  a  whisper, 

"  S'lome,  is  that  a  fact  ?" 


20  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"Yes,  it  is." 

The  young  man  turned  and  took  up  the  tin  pail. 
Then  he  set  it  down  again  on  the  flat  stone.  His 
face  showed  that  the  idea  which  had  just  come  to  his 
mind  was  quite  terrible  to  him. 

"  P'raps  you're  going  to  be  engaged  to  Walter 
Redd.  Oh,  you  needn't  be  mad  ;  and  of  course  you 
needn't  tell  if  you  don't  want  to.  Has  he  asked 
you?" 

"  No  ;  he  hasn't.     I'm  going  home  now." 

Salome  moved  away  with  decision.  Dick  caught 
up  the  tin  pail  again. 

"  He's  sure  to  ask  you,"  he  went  on,  hurrying  to 
the  girl's  side.  "  He's  been  in  love  with  you  ever 
since  he  came  to  the  town." 

No  answer  from  the  girl  save  her  slight  shrug  of 
the  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  blame  anybody  for  being  in  love  with 
you,"  he  said. 

Another  shrug,  and  silence.  Salome  ran  a  great 
risk  of  falling  over  the  stones  of  the  pasture,  she 
went  at  such  a  headlong  gait. 

"I  shall  spill  this  sweet  pickle  as  sure's  I'm  alive, 
if  you  go  on  like  this,"  at  last  remarked  Dick. 

"  You're  not  obliged  to  go  so  fast,"  was  the  re 
sponse,  without  any  pause. 

"  I  know  it,  but  I'm  going  with  you." 

There  was  nothing  more  said  until  the  two  came 
out  into  the  road  opposite  the  Gerry  house.  Then 
Salome  paused  and  took  the  pail. 

"I'm  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you." 

She  spoke  so  gently  that  Dick  started  visibly  and 
looked  hopefully  at  her.  But  his  look  instantly  sank. 

"You're  very  welcome,"  he  replied.     "Good-bye." 


TWO    KINDS    OF    LOVERS  21 

"  Good-bye,"  still  with  the  utmost  gentleness. 

He  lingered. 

"  If  you  don't  mean  anything,"  he  said,  "  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  speak  like  that." 

"  Like  what  ?"  in  astonishment. 

"Why,  in  that  kind  of  a  voice,  just  as  if  you — just 
as  if—" 

Dick  Chapin  paused,  unable  to  go  on. 

"  Just  as  if  I  what  ?"  persisted  Salome. 

"Just  as  if  you  almost  loved  me.  Oh,  S'lome,  if 
you  do  like  me  just  a  little,  you  know,  we  can  be  en 
gaged,  and  when  you  are  really  engaged  you'll  begin 
to  like  me  better  and  better.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

There  was  a  perceptible  hesitation  in  the  girl's 
manner.  She  was  wondering  if  that  was  the  way 
people  became  engaged,  and  if  then  they  became 
more  fond  of  each  other.  But.  it  did  not  seem 
right. 

She  put  her  hand  unconsciously  up  to  her  chest. 

"  No  ;  I  don't  think  so,"  she  said,  decisively. 

"Then  if  you  don't  think  so,"  returned  Dick, 
speaking  with  more  power  than  he  had  yet  used,  "you 
must  not  say  anything  in  that  kind  of  a  voice,  I  tell 
you.  I  can't  stand  it — I  can't  stand  it." 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  bewildered  way.  She  had 
not  the  least  idea  what  he  meant. 

Still  the  young  man  lingered.  Salome  wondered 
how  she  had  had  any  inclination  to  laugh.  She  al 
most  wanted  to  sob  now. 

"  I've  got  to  go  over  to  the  Falls  next  week,"  he 
said,  "  and  it's  most  likely  I  sh'll  have  to  stay 
right  along.  I  can  have  a  steady  job  there.  So  I 
sha'n't  see  you  again." 

Salome  again  put  her  hand  up  to  her  chest. 


22  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

"  I  thought  you  only  just  liked  me,"  she  said,  her 
eyes  now  fixed  on  his  face. 

"  Liked  you  !" 

He  could  not  say  any  more.  He  gave  her  one 
look  straight  down  into  her  eyes  ,  then  he  hurried 
along  the  road. 

Salome  hastened  across  the  broad  sweep  of  fading 
grass  up  to  the  house.  As  she  placed  her  foot  on 
the  step  the  door  opened  swiftly,  and  her  mother  put 
out  her  hand  and  drew  her  daughter  within  the  house. 

"Child,"  she  said,  anxiously,  "the  wind  is  east;  it's 
been  east  for  more  than  an  hour." 

"It's  no  matter,  mother.     I  haven't  felt  it  at  all." 

Salome  sat  down  quickly.  Her  mother  snuffed  at 
the  sweet  pickle,  and  said  she  guessed  Salome  had 
been  to  Mrs.  Lamkin's.  Then  she  sat  down  in  a 
chair  which  she  drew  close  to  her  daughter.  She 
took  off  the  girl's  hat  and  brushed  back  the  loose 
locks  which  fell  over  the  intent  face.  Salome  looked 
up  at  the  woman.  The  strong  brown  eyes  which 
met  her  gaze  seemed  to  radiate  strength  and  rest  into 
her  palpitating  frame. 

She  leaned  back  in  the  calico  covered  rocker,  keep 
ing  the  hard,  rough  hand  in  hers. 

"  Your  father's  seen  Uncle  John,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry. 

Salome  suddenly  sat  upright.  But  she  grasped  her 
mother's  hand  still  more  closely. 

"  Oh,  mother  !"  she  exclaimed. 

Then  it  appeared  as  if  she  could  say  nothing  more. 

Mrs.  Gerry  smoothed  the  slender  fingers  that  lay  in 
her  palm. 

"Uncle  John  promised  that  he'd  lend  four  hundred 
dollars,"  she  said,  "but  he  should  want  a  mortgage  on 
the  east  wood-lot." 


TWO    KINDS    OF    LOVERS  23 

"  Then  we're  going,  mother  ?     We  are  going  ?" 

The  young  voice  was  so  full  of  intense  hope  and 
joy  that  Mrs.  Gerry  smiled  as  she  answered  : 

"  Yes,  we're  going,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  But 
Uncle  John  is  a  hard  man,  a  hard  man." 

Salome  was  too  young,  too  full  of  the  egotism  of 
youth  to  care  much  on  what  conditions  the  money 
was  obtained,  since  it  was  obtained,  and  she  was  go 
ing  to  Florida. 

She  left  her  chair.  She  began  to  walk  about  the 
room. 

She  coughed  two  or  three  times,  but  she  did  not 
seem  to  know  that  she  did  so. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  the  sooner  the  better !"  she  exclaimed, 
her  whole  face  radiant. 

All  at  once  it  occurred  to  her  that  it  was  selfish  to 
think  only  of  the  mere  fact  of  her  going.  She  stopped 
in  front  of  her  mother;  she  bent  over  her,  putting  a 
hand  on  each  arm  of  the  chair. 

"  Will  it  be  very  bad  for  father,  giving  that  mort 
gage  ?"  she  asked.  "  I  must  be  real  mean  not  to 
think  of  that  the  very  first  thing.  But,  don't  you  know, 
mother,  when  I  get  well—  "  here  she  began  walking 
again,  "  when  I  am  well  I  shall  get  some  kind  of  a  po 
sition,  and  I  shall  earn  money,  and  then  I  shall  help 
father.  I've  always  wished  I  could  help  him  some 
how.  Here  I  am  almost  twenty-three,  and  except 
that  year  I  made  chain  from  the  jeweller's  I've  never 
earned  anything.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  kept  on 
making  chain." 

"  You  know  it  didn't  agree  with  you  ;  you  know 
how  it  made  your  side  ache,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry. 

But  Salome  did  not  hear  her.  She  had  paused  by 
the  window,  and  was  looking  intently  out  into  a  large 


24  THE    TWO    SALOMES. 

oak-tree  which  stood  in  the  yard,  its  dry  leaves  rust 
ling.  The  red  of  the  setting  sun  was  upon  it. 

"To  the  South  !"  she  cried,  suddenly;  "why,  it's  like 
a  dream,  isn't  it,  mother?  I  know  I  shall  get  well." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that,  Salome,"  said 
Mrs.  Gerry,  sharply.  Then  she  laughed  constrainedly 
as  she  added,  "  You  know  it  isn't  a  good  sign  to  say 
such  things." 

"  No  matter  about  signs,  you  old  mother !"  cried 
Salome.  She  took  two  or  three  sliding,  waltzing 
steps  across  the  floor.  Her  eyes  deepened. 

"  '  'Tis  the  clime  of   the  South,  'tis  the  land  of   the  sun — 
Can  he  smile  on  such  deeds  as  his  children  have  done  ?'  " 

She  recited  these  words  in  a  thin,  sweet  soprano 
voice  ;  then  she  turned  towards  the  elder  woman  and 
asked  : 

"What  does  that  mean,  anyway,  mother?  It 
sounds  delightfully  wicked,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"  Salome,  nothing  is  delightfully  wicked,"  returned 
Mrs.  Gerry,  with  some  anxiety.  "  Byron  was  wicked 
enough,  but  he  was  very  far  from  being  delightful  to 
himself." 

"  But  he  was  delightful  to  other  people,  wasn't  he  ? 
And  that's  the  thing,  you  know;  to  have  people  love 
you." 

"  No,  it's  not  the  thing  at  all,"  quickly  returned  her 
mother,  with  asperity.  "  Don't  you  get  such  an  idea 
into  your  head." 

Salome  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  looking  down 
at  her  mother.  There  was  a  certain  expression  on  her 
face  which  made  it  quite  impossible  to  believe  that  the 
same  face  had  ever  had  anything  Puritanical  in  it. 


TWO    KINDS    OF    LOVERS  25 

"  The  only  thing  is  to  be  right ;  it's  the  only  thing 
in  the  world." 

Mrs.  Gerry  spoke  with  an  almost  passionate  em 
phasis. 

Salome  came  quickly  and  knelt  down  by  her 
mother's  side,  laying  her  arms  across  her  mother's 
lap. 

"  You've  certainly  brought  me  up  right,"  she  said, 
warmly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Gerry,  again 
pushing  back  the  hair  from  the  child's  forehead ;  "  I 
hope  so.  If  I've  lived  as  I  ought,  and  you  have  felt 
my  life,  why,  then  you've  been  brought  up  well." 

Mrs.  Gerry  smiled  now  in  a  way  that  changed  her 
worn  face  back  into  what  might  have  been  its  youth 
ful  look. 

"  You've  always  been  such  a  good  girl,  Salome. 
Sometimes  I've  thought  you  were  too  conscientious. 
So  I  was  startled  to  have  you  speak  sort  of — sort  of 
carelessly  just  now.  You  know  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  having  a  morbid  conscience.  I've  been  afraid  you 
had  it." 

Salome  smiled  vividly.  She  rose  to  her  feet.  It 
seemed  impossible  now  for  her  to  remain  any  time  in 
one  position. 

"I've  had  times  of  thinking  so  myself,"  she  ex 
claimed  with  a  laugh  ;  "  thinking  I  was  too  good  to 
live,  you  know,  and  that  I  must  grow  just  a  little 
wicked  if  I  wanted  to  spend  much  time  on  this  earth. 
Those  old  Sunday-school  books  that  Aunt  Eudora 
talks  about  so  much  have  taught  me  one  thing:  if  you 
want  to  live  you  mustn't  be  too  good.  Now,  don't 
you  worry,  mother;  you  know  I'm  only  in  fun.  The 
thought  of  really  going  to  Florida  has  set  me  wild." 


26  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Again  the  girl  took  two  or  three  waltzing  steps  over 
the  old  carpet. 

She  paused  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  We  sha'n't  need  any  heavy  flannels,  shall  we, 
mother  ?"  she  asked ;  "  and  my  old  jacket  will  do, 
though  you've  always  said  it  wasn't  thick  enough. 
And  when  shall  we  actually  start  ?"  she  asked. 

"I've  set  the  time  for  a  week  from  to-day.  I'm 
in  a  hurry  to  get  you  off.  The  frosts  are  so  sharp 
now—" 

Salome  clasped  her  hands — 

"  '  Tis  the  clime  of  the  South,  'tis  the  land  of  the  sun,'" 

she  interrupted  ;  "  oh,  I  know  I  shall  get  well !" 

All  day  the  mother  and  daughter  talked  of  their 
journey.  They  worked  about  the  house,  Salome  per 
forming  the  lighter  labor ;  and  all  day  they  planned 
and  planned,  the  girl  with  an  almost  ominous  exu 
berance  of  spirits — at  least,  Mrs.  Gerry  was  afraid  it 
was  ominous. 

Neither  had  been  much  more  than  a  score  of  miles 
from  home,  except  that  the  mother  had  once  been  to 
Portland  by  boat,  and  the  sea-sickness  she  had  ex 
perienced  made  her  now  afraid  to  go  to  Florida  by 
steamer,  though  that  way  was  the  cheapest  of  all  the 
routes  she  had  studied.  What  if  they  should  both  be 
sick  and  she  not  able  to  take  care  of  Salome  ? 

That  was  her  constant  thought— if  she  should  not 
be  able  to  take  care  of  Salome.  As  for  the  girl,  she 
did  not  care  which  way  she  went,  and  she  was  again 
planning  how  she  would  earn  money  when  she  came 
back.  She  said  she  wished  she  had  some  vocation  ; 
she  didn't  know  as  she  could  do  one  thing  better 


TWO    KINDS    OF    LOVERS  27 

than  another.  If  she  could  only  paint,  or  sing,  or 
make  verses. 

Thus  she  prattled  on  as  she  went  here  and  there 
about  the  house.  Her  cheeks  grew  flushed  at  last 
and  her  eyes  still  more  bright. 

Mr.  Gerry  was  not  to  be  at  home  until  the  next 
day.  He  had  driven  twenty  miles  to  meet  "  Uncle 
John  "  for  the  final  arrangements  about  the  mortgage, 
and  to  get  the  four  hundred  dollars. 

When  at  last  supper  was  eaten,  the  dishes  washed, 
and  Salome  was  lying  on  the  lounge  in  the  sitting- 
room,  there  came  an  imperative  knock  at  the  front  door. 

"  I  do  hope  we  sha'n't  have  company  to-night,"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Gerry. 

She  took  the  lamp  and  went  into  the  entry.  Salome 
sat  up  and  passed  her  hands  over  her  hot  face. 

The  next  moment  a  tall  young  man  followed  her 
mother  into  the  room.  He  had  on  a  long,  rough  over 
coat,  and  he  looked  immense  in  size  as  he  stood  there; 
it  seemed  as  if  he  were  magnified  in  the  light  of  the 
lamp  which  Mrs.  Gerry  now  replaced  on  the  table. 

He  held  a  gray  cap  in  his  hand,  and  this  cap  he 
shifted  from  one  hand  to  the  other  several  times  be 
fore  he  sat  down. 

The  chair  almost  creaked  under  him,  and  his  coat 
lay  in  a  long  fold  on  the  floor  on  each  side  of  him. 
This  was  Walter  Redd.  He  had  a  swarthy  face,  with 
black  eyes  and  brows.  His  mouth  was  small,  and 
there  was  a  slight  protruding  of  the  under  lip,  which 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  person  who  always  had 
his  own  way.  But  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  only  his 
great  size  which  produced  that  impression.  We  are 
not  yet  so  enlightened  but  that  bulk  of  body  gives  the 
idea  of  power. 


28  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

Mrs.  Gerry  resumed  her  seat  and  the  stocking  she 
was  mending  for  her  husband.  She  said  it  was  get 
ting  cold,  but  then  one  must  expect  chilly  weather 
the  last  of  October.  Then  she  glanced  at  the  visitor 
and  suggested  that  he  take  off  his  greatcoat ;  he'd  be 
very  uncomfortable  if  he  sat  with  it  on. 

Walter  Redd  rose  and  divested  himself  of  a  gar 
ment  which  must  have  \ve:ghed  a  good  many 
pounds. 

When  he  sat  down  again  he  wiped  his  face  with  a 
handkerchief  that  was  yet  in  its  immaculate  folds. 
He  remarked  that  Mr.  Earstow  had  had  more  than 
two  barrels  of  cranberries  frostbitten  because  he  had 
been  so  slack  about  having  them  picked.  But  then 
Mr.  Barstow  was  slack  about  everything. 

Possibly  one  might  at  first  have  thought  that  young 
Redd  was  diffident,  but  he  was  not  in  the  least,  even 
though  he  might  be  awkward.  And  he  was  not  what 
we  used  to  call  "  forward,"  either. 

Mrs.  Gerry,  with  the  blue  woollen  sock  drawn  over 
one  hand,  and  her  darning-needle  in  the  other,  looked 
for  one  questioning  instant  at  the  young  man  as  he 
spoke.  Then  she  glanced  at  her  daughter. 

Salome  had  moved  to  the  head  of  the  lounge,  had 
pulled  the  balsam  pillow  up  under  one  arm,  and  was 
leaning  heavily  upon  it.  She  was  not  looking  at 
Redd ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  apparently  on  her  red  wool 
slippers,  which  showed  beyond  her  skirt. 

"  It  seems  too  bad  to  lose  cranberries,"  now  re 
sponded  Mrs.  Gerry,  when  she  perceived  that  Salome 
was  not  going  to  reply.  "  They  bring  a  good  price 
this  year." 

"  First-rate  price,"  said  Redd. 

He  reached  forward  and  put  his  cap  on  the  table. 


TWO    KINDS    OF    LOVERS  29 

His  hand  showed  large  and  well  formed,  but  rough 
with  out-door  work. 

"  I've  made  over  fifty  dollars  on  that  little  bog  I 
bought  of  the  Curtis  heirs." 

"  Have  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  cordially ;  "  why, 
Walter,  that's  doing  real  well." 

"  So  I  thought.     I  was  pleased  enough  about  it." 

Thus  far  the  young  man  had  not  looked  at  Salome 
save  with  the  instantaneous  glance  which  had  told 
him  she  was  in  the  room  when  the  two  had  nodded 
at  each  other  on  his  entrance. 

Now  his  eyes  swept  deliberately  over  her,  and  were 
only  removed  when  they  had  reached  the  red  wool 
slippers. 

At  that  stage  in  the  gaze  his  dark  face  seemed  to 
deepen  a  very  little  in  color,  but  it  was  unmoved 
otherwise. 

"  How's  your  health  now,  Salome  ?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  was  very  weary  of  being  asked  about  her 
health,  but  she  replied,  politely, 

"Thank  you;   I  think  I'm  full  as  well." 

"I  think  she  is  better,  if  anything,"  said  her  mother, 
quickly. 

Salome's  face  was  quietly  set  in  its  most  ordinary 
look,  a  serious,  what  one  might  almost  call  a  con 
scientious,  look,  and  which  aided  a  certain  tendency 
to  coldness  in  her  expression  which  the  sensitive 
features  and  eyes  could  not  quite  contradict. 

"They  were  telling  down  to  the  store  this  after 
noon,"  said  Redd,  "  that  you  was  both  going  to  Florida. 
Is  that  true  ?" 

The  young  man  was  carefully  trying  to  speak  cor 
rectly,  and  he  usually  succeeded. 

Each  of  the  women  waited  for  the  other  to  reply,  so 


30  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

there  was  a  slight  pause  before  Mrs.  Gerry  said  she 
supposed  it  was  true.  They  had  had  Dr.  Bowdoin, 
and  he  advised  that  Salome  spend  the  winter  in 
Florida;  he  thought  she  would  be  completely  cured 
of  her  weak  chest.  On  the  whole,  as  he  seemed  so 
positive,  they  were  going  to  make  a  great  effort 
and  go. 

"  I  wish  father  could  afford  it,"  exclaimed  Salome, 
with  emphasis.  She  added  that  when  she  came  back 
she  should  earn  money  herself,  so  that  things  would 
get  even  after  a  while.  She  asked  Redd  if  he  didn't 
think  it  would  be  a  good  plan  for  her  to  begin  to  learn 
type-writing  while  she  was  in  Florida,  so  that  she 
might  go  right  to  work  when  she  returned.  She 
wished  she  knew  just  what  would  be  best. 

She  lifted  the  little  fir  balsam  pillow  and  put  her 
face  in  it,  inhaling  strongly  its  perfume. 

Redd  did  not  look  at  her.  He  addressed  his  reply 
to  her  mother. 

"  Girls  seem  to  do  most  anything  now,"  he  said. 

Having  made  this  remark,  he  lasped  into  complete 
silence.  He  sat  with  apparent  calmness,  as  if  not 
caring  how  long  the  silence  lasted.  He  had  the  ap 
pearance  of  having  the  waiting  power  well  developed. 

When  he  did  speak  it  was  quite  to  his  purpose,  and 
he  again  addressed  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  I  called  here  to-night,"  he  said,  "  because  I  wanted 
to  see  Salome  specially.  May  I  see  her  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  gathered  her  scissors  and  her  ball  of 
blue  mending  yarn  from  the  stand.  She  refrained 
from  looking  at  her  daughter. 

"I'll  go  right  into  the  kitchen,"  she  responded. 
"  It's  warm  there." 

She   walked  out  of  the  room.     Walter   Redd  re- 


TWO    KINDS    OF    LOVERS  31 

mained  sitting  almost  immovably  in  his  chair.  Salome 
held  her  pillow  again  to  her  face.  She  was  fighting 
against  a  strong  impulse  to  follow  her  mother  into  the 
next  room.  She  was  afraid  Redd  was  looking  at  her. 
She  wanted  to  make  some  quick,  impatient  move 
ment.  But  she  was  almost  as  motionless  as  her  com 
panion.  Almost — for  there  was  a  kind  of  suggestion 
of  movement  in  her,  while  he  was  as  without  stir  as 
a  log. 

Why  is  it  that  those  who  can  remain  apparently 
inert  have  such  an  advantage  over  the  beings  who 
quiver  with  evident  life  ?  Why  should  vis  inertia  con 
quer  so  often  in  this  world  ? 

Salome  supposed  he  was  going  to  ask  to  be  engaged 
to  her.  She  thought  it  was  rather  strange  that  she, 
who  had  never  before  had  a  proposal  in  her  life, 
should  now  have  two  in  one  day. 

She  wondered  what  those  girls  to  whom  men  were 
constantly  proposing  did  in  the  circumstances.  She 
wished  she  knew  some  one  to  ask. 

But  those  whom  she  knew  had  received  proposals 
had  always  said  "yes."  The  matter  would  be  per 
fectly  simple,  and  she  would  need  no  advice  if  she 
were  always  going  to  say  "yes." 

After  a  while  the  silence,  the  perfect  stillness  be 
came  almost  unbearable ;  Salome  glanced  quickly  at 
the  man  who  sat  there  opposite  her. 

She  found  that  he  was  gazing  openly  and  unswerv 
ingly  at  her.  She  wondered  irritably  how  much  longer 
he  would  do  that,  and  she  could  not  ask  him  what  he 
wanted,  since  he  must  see  her  "specially,"  as  he  had 
said. 

She  sat  upright  now,  and  put  her  pillow  on  the 
lounge  with  a  decided  motion.  She  told  herself  that 


32  THE    TWO   SALOMES     ' 

she  would  not  endure  this  much  longer.  What  did 
Walter  Redd  mean  by  coming  here  and  sitting  like 
that  ? 

If  another  moment  passed  in  this  way  she  would 
open  the  kitchen  door  and  call  her  mother. 

Now  Walter  spoke. 

"  I  s'pose  you  know  what  I've  come  for,  Salome." 

"  No,  I  don't  know,  either,"  she  answered. 

"Now,  don't  say  that,"  he  rejoined,  "because  you 
ain't  stupid  one  bit,  and  you  know  I  asked  your 
mother  to  go  out,  or  just  the  same  as  asked  her,  so  I 
could  tell  you  I  wanted  to  marry  you.  And  that  I 
came  over  just  for  that.  I've  meant  to  do  it  for  some 
time,  and  when  I  heard  them  say  you  were  going  to 
Florida  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd — " 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you'd  stop  !"  interrupted  Salome  at 
this  stage  in  Redd's  remarks.  Then  she  said,  peni 
tently,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Walter,  but  I'm  very 
tired  to-night." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  going  to  tire  you.  Just  tell  me  you'll 
marry  me  and  I'll  go  right  home." 

As  he  said  these  words  the  young  man  leaned  for 
ward  a  little. 

At  the  same  time  Salome  shrank  back.  If  she 
could  only  say  "yes"  how  easily  she  could  end  the 
interview,  she  thought. 

"  But  I  can't  tell  you  so,"  she  answered. 

"  Of  course  you've  known  all  along  that  I  love  you. 
Ain't  you  known  that,  Salome  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  haven't." 

"  I  s'pose  I  must  believe  you,  but  I  don't  see  how 
you  could  help  knowing  that — no ;  I  don't  see  how  you 
could  help  knowing  that." 

There  was  a  curious  weight  and  strength  in  the  way 


TWO  KINDS    OF    LOVERS  33 

the  young  man  spoke.  His  manner  impressed  Sa 
lome  in  a  way  that  confused  and  mystified  her.  She 
was  conscious  of  trying  to  gather  herself  as  if  for  re 
sistance.  At  the  same  time  there  was  something 
strange  and  bewildering  in  her  consciousness  which 
pleaded — she  did  not  know  for  what  it  pleaded. 

She  did  not  think  Redd's  last  remark  called  for 
any  reply,  and  she  did  not  attempt  to  make  any. 

Redd  still  maintained  the  same  position,  bending 
forward  towards  her.  He  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 
speak  again. 

Salome  sat  there  in  front  of  him.  She  heard  her 
mother  open  the  kitchen  stove  and  put  in  wood.  She 
held  herself  on  the  lounge  by  a  distinct  and  painful 
effort  of  her  will.  She  felt  the  veins  in  her  neck 
begin  to  beat  painfully,  and  that  constriction  which 
was  so  much  of  the  time  across  her  chest  was  greater 
than  ever  now. 

If  Redd  should  remain  many  more  minutes  she 
could  not  answer  for  what  she  should  do. 

"  I  wish  you  knew  how  I  love  you,"  he  finally  said. 

No  answer. 

"But  I  can't  tell  you,"  he  went  on.  "  I  haven't  got 
any  words.  All  there  is  to  me  loves  you.  It's  all 
been  so  strange  since  the  first  of  my  knowing  you. 
I  ain't  hardly  known  myself.  Salome,  I  don't  see  but 
what  I've  got  to  have  you.  I've  got  to  have  you."i 

He  sat  perfectly  still  as  he  spoke  these  words.  His 
quietness  of  body  contrasted  indescribably  with  the 
emotion  in  his  voice. 

The  girl  turned  suddenly  and  bent  down  to  the 
head  of  the  lounge,  hiding  her  face  in  the  cushion 
again,  and  quivering  as  she  did  so. 

"  I  wish  you'd  go,"  she  said,  her  voice  muffled  by 
3 


34  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

her  position.  "  It's  dreadful  to  have  you  talk  like 
that." 

"It's  dreadful  for  me ;  I'm  sure  of  that,"  he  an 
swered.  "  Do  you  really  want  me  to  go,  Salome  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Redd  rose.  He  took  his  overcoat  and  put  it  over 
his  arm. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  bring  yourself  to  marry 
me  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  from  the  lounge. 

"  You're  sure  you  know  your  own  mind  ?  They 
say  girls  are  awful  strange  about  knowing  their  own 
minds." 

"  I  know  mine." 

He  stood  holding  his  coat  and  looking  down  at  her; 
stood  quietly  and  easily. 

"  Then  of  course  I  ought  to  go." 

He  did  not  move. 

"  But  I  don't  see  how  I  can  give  you  up.  Salome, 
I've  got  to  have  you.  Don't  you  see,  I've  got  to  have 
you?" 

The  girl  did  not  lift  her  head,  did  not  move. 

Redd  carefully  laid  his  coat  down  in  the  chair 
whence  he  had  just  taken  it.  He  stepped  over  to  the 
lounge  and  lifted  the  girl  in  his  arms.  It  was  useless 
for  her  to  struggle.  She  did  not.  She  only  averted 
her  face  against  his  shoulder  and  was  still. 

"  Salome,  ain't  there  any  chance  that  you've  made 
a  mistake  ?" 

"  No,  no." 

He  held  her  for  an  instant.  Then  he  put  her  care 
fully  back  on  the  couch.  He  stood  looking  down  at 
her. 

"  I  won't  plague  you  any  more  now,  Salome,"  he 


TWO    KINDS    OF    LOVERS  35 

said,  "but  I'm  going  to  hope  you'll  change  your  mind. 
I  don't  know  anything  about  women,  but  everybody 
says  they  are  quite  likely  to  change  their  minds.  So 
I  sha'n't  give  up.  I  wouldn't  give  a  cent  for  my  life 
if  I  gave  up  thinking  about  you." 

He  put  on  his  coat,  shaking  his  broad  shoulders 
into  it.  He  took  his  cap ;  he  passed  it  from  one 
hand  to  the  other  as  he  had  done  when  he  came  in. 

"  I'm  going  in  a  minute.  I  wanted  to  say  some 
thing  about  that  fifty  dollars  I  made  on  that  cranberry 
bog.  I  sha'n't  need  it ;  I'm  doing  first-rate.  I  know 
your  father's  got  to  reckon  pretty  close  to  send  you 
to  Florida.  You  just  let  me  give  that  money  to  your 
mother.  It  might  make  things  a  little  easier  for  you. 
It'll  do  me  a  lot  of  good  if  you  will ;  more'n  you  know. 
And  I  sha'n't  think  you  under  any  obligation.  You 
can  pay  it  back  when  you  get  to  earning,  you  know, 
if  you  want  to." 

It  was  a  moment  before  Salome  said : 

"  I  know  how  kind  you  are,  Walter ;  but  we  can  get 
along  real  well  without  it." 

She  sat  up  now.  She  put  her  hands  to  her  cheeks 
for  an  instant.  Then  she  looked  up  in  the  young 
man's  face. 

He  met  the  glance,  then  turned  with  a  quicker 
movement  than  he  had  yet  made. 

"  Well,  good-bye,"  he  said. 


Ill 

ANTINOUS 

SITTING  by  the  cook-stove,  where,  like  an  American 
mother,  she  had  retreated  that  a  young  man  might 
have  an  opportunity  to  ask  her  daughter  to  marry 
him,  Mrs.  Gerry  forgot  to  go  on  with  the  mending  of 
her  husband's  socks.  She  sat  with  one  stocking  on 
her  hand  with  her  ringer  through  a  large  hole.  But 
the  hand  lay  idly  on  her  lap.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  blaze  of  the  lamp,  and  her  mouth  was  shut 
tightly. 

At  last  she  leaned  her  head  back  on  the  chair,  and 
took  a  long  breath. 

"Salome  will  do  what  she  thinks  is  right,  anyway," 
she  thought.  "  She  always  was  such  a  conscientious 
little  thing,  and  such  a  spirited  little  thing  ;  only  late 
ly  her  not  being  well  has  kept  her  down,  somehow, 
and  she  ain't  seemed  like  herself." 

The  sound  of  steps,  and  then  of  a  door  closing, 
made  her  start  up  quickly.  She  hurriedly  drew  off 
the  stocking  from  her  hand  and  almost  flung  it  on 
the  stand.  She  stood  up.  Then  she  waited,  fearing 
that  her  daughter  might  want  to  be  alone ;  or  perhaps 
the  girl  would  come  to  her. 

Several  moments  passed.  There  was  no  sound, 
and  Mrs.  Gerry  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  walked 
to  the  door  and  opened  it  softly.  Salome  was  lying 


ANTINOUS  37 

on  the  lounge  as  if  she  were  asleep.  But  her  eye 
lashes  directly  lifted.  She  sat  up,  and  gave  a  short, 
nervous  laugh.  The  laugh  terminated  in  a  cough. 

Mrs.  Gerry  sat  down  by  the  girl.  Salome  leaned 
her  shoulder  against  her  mother. 

"  If  you  want  to  learn  how  much  folks  think  of  you, 
just  let  them  know  you're  going  away,"  she  remarked. 

Mrs. Gerry  said  nothing.  Her  face  showed  her  anx 
iety. 

"  First,  'twas  Dick  Chapin,  and  now  it's  Walter 
Redd,"  went  on  Salome  ;  "and,  oh,  mother,  it  isn't  any 
fun  at  all  to  be  proposed  to.  Some  of  the  girls  talk 
as  if  it  were  fun,  but  then  they  said  'yes,'  "  returning 
in  her  mind  to  her  former  thought  on  this  subject. 

"  And  you  didn't  say  '  yes  ?'  " 

"  Oh  no,  of  course  not,"  in  surprise  ;  "  why 
should  I ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  how  you  felt,  Salome.  I've  won 
dered  a  good  deal  about  it,  but  I  didn't  want  to  ask 
you.  And  you  don't  care  for  either  of  them  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  ;  why  should  I  ?"  again.  "  Besides," 
laughing  and  coughing,  "you  know  Aunt  Endora  says 
a  woman  never  ought  to  love  any  man  but  her  hus 
band,  and  I  haven't  got  any  husband.  Mother,  I  wish 
we  could  start  for  Florida  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Gerry  wondered  if  Salome  would  give  any 
more  particulars  concerning  the  incidents  of  the  day ; 
but  she  did  not. 

And  every  hour  after  seemed  to  be  filled  with  prep 
arations  for  their  journey,  and  for  the  limited  house 
keeping  they  were  arranging  for. 

Every  neighbor  called  with  profuse  offerings  of  ad 
vice.  Not  one  of  them  had  ever  been  in  Florida,  but 
all  felt  competent  to  give  a  good  deal  of  instruction. 


38  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

The  advice  and  the  instruction,  oddly  enough,  chiefly 
hinged  upon  flannels  and  overshoes — ''rubbers." 
Everybody  was  afraid  the  Gerrys  would  not  take  suf 
ficient  of  these  safeguards  against  the  climate  and 
the  storms. 

Mrs.  Lamkin  even  went  so  far  as  to  make  and  bring 
over,  as  a  token  of  friendship,  a  pair  of  red  flannel 
under  -  vests,  made  from  something  which  seemed 
about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick.  These  were  for 
Salome  to  wear  when  she  was  really  settled  down  for 
the  winter. 

During  the  conversation  it  transpired  that  these 
vests  were  made  from  some  garments  which  Mr. 
Lamkin  had  been  obliged  to  discard  on  account  of 
the  superlative  degree  of  the  power  of  shrinking  in 
herent  in  them. 

Mrs.  Lamkin  explained  how  she  herself  had  washed 
these  "robins,"  as  she  called  them.  She  went  into 
the  minutest  detail  as  to  this  process  of  washing,  and 
she  ended  by  saying  that  she  never  took  so  much 
pains  with  anything  in  her  life,  and  she  didn't  see 
how  under  the  sun  they  managed  to  shrink  so. 

"But  there's  one  thing  about  it,  Mis'  Gerry,  you 
can  be  sure  they  can't  shrink  any  more.  'Tain't  pos 
sible.  And  they'll  wear  forever." 

Mrs.  Gerry  took  a  fold  of  the  stuff  between  her 
thumb  and  forefinger.  She  expressed  a  polite  hope 
that  Mrs.  Lamkin  had  not  robbed  herself. 

That  lady  replied  "  that  she  knew  they'd  jest  lay 
'n'  git  all  moth-eaten,  and  so  she  had  made  them  up 
for  S'lome,  S'lome  having  a  weak  chest,  so." 

Salome  sat  quite  still  during  this  call,  her  thin, 
earnest  face  somewhat  averted  from  the  woman  who 
had  brought  this  gift. 


ANTINOUS  39 

When  Mrs.  Lamkin  had  departed  the  girl  rose,  and, 
lifting  one  of  the  made-over  robins,  she  shook  it  out 
and  dangled  it  in  front  of  her  mother.  She  did  not 
now  smile  in  the  least,  but  her  eyes  danced  in  a 
sparkling  light. 

"  Put  it  down,  Salome,"  said  her  mother,  sharply. 
"  Mrs.  Lamkin  is  really  fond  of  you  ;  and  she  means 
well ;  and  it  must  have  been  a  lot  of  work." 

Salome  obeyed.  While  she  was  folding  the  gar 
ment  the  door  opened  again,  and  Mrs.  Scudder 
came  in. 

This  lady,  when  seen  without  her  best  bonnet  and 
kid  gloves,  was  not  nearly  so  imposing.  Even  the 
folds  of  gray  hair  on  each  side  of  her  face  seemed  to 
have  diminished  in  size.  But  her  pale  eyes  stood  out 
just  the  same,  and  her  voice  was  so  soft  that  one  al 
most  expected  to  hear  her  purr. 

"Mis'  Sprague  said  you  was  really goin' to-morrer," 
she  remarked,  as  she  sat  down.  "  Be  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  we  expect  to,"  answered  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  Well,  I  should  think  you'd  want  to  git  off  now ; 
you're  kind  of  unsettled,  'n'  all  tore  up  in  your 
mind.  I've  been  makin'  some  fried  pies,  'n'  I 
brought  some.  Mis'  Sprague  said  you  was  goin'  to 
take  the  victuals  for  your  trip  in  a  basket.  They  say 
it's  dreadful  expensive  buyin'  victuals  on  a  journey, 
'n'  I  knew  you'd  got  to  save  money,  of  course." 

Mrs.  Scudder  put  a  good-sized  paper  bag  on  the 
table.  It  showed  some  spots  of  grease,  and  its  odor 
also  revealed  that  it  was  the  receptacle  of  the  fried 
pies. 

"  They're  real  nourishing  if  you  can  digest  urn," 
she  said.  "  They're  mince.  I  knew  consumptive 
folks  could  eat  most  anything.  It's  the  mince-meat 


40  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

I'm  going  to  make  my  Thanksgiving  pies  of.  I  guess 
it's  kind  of  decent.  How  be  ye,  S'lome  ?  Do  ye 
perk  up  any  thinkin'  of  your  journey  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  perk  up  a  little,  thank  you,"  answered 
the  girl,  gravely. 

"  I  s'pose  that's  excitement,"  responded  Mrs.  Scud- 
der.  "I  hope  you  won't  git  so  excited  that  you'll 
all  cave  in  when  you  git  there." 

"  I  hope  I  sha'n't  cave  in,"  replied  Salome. 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  anxiously,  but  the  girl's 
demeanor  was  irreproachable. 

"Dick  Chapin's  gone  over  to  the  Falls,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Scudder.  "  Mrs.  West  said  he  was  awful  down 
to  the  heel.  I  told  her  I  guessed  I  knew  why." 

Mrs.  Scudder's  eyes  roamed  over  Salome's  face,  but 
Salome,  though  her  face  might  have  a  feverish  color 
in  it,  rarely  blushed. 

She  did  not  blush  now. 

"  Do  you  put  lemon-peel  in  your  mince-meat  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  asked  this  question  somewhat  hastily, 
and  she  listened  with  absorbed  attention  to  the  reci 
tals  of  the  conditions  under  which  Mrs.  Scudder 
thought  lemon-peel  ought  to  be  put  into  pie-meat. 

The  conversation  was  kept  strictly  within  pie-meat 
limits  until  Mrs.  Scudder  rose  to  go.  Then  she  said 
that  she  had  almost  forgotten  one  of  the  main  things 
she  had  come  for,  and  that  was  to  warn  the  Gerrys 
to  look  out  for  snakes  when  they  got  to  Floridy. 
Southern  countries  were  full  of  snakes,  she  had  un 
derstood.  She  suggested  the  constant  wearing  of 
rubber  boots.  She  said  Mr.  Scudder  had  several 
pairs  of  rubber  boots  which  he  had  got  through  with, 
they  having  become  leaky.  But  their  leaking  didn't 
make  any  difference  in  their  repelling  power  as  re- 


ANTINOUS  41 

garded  snakes.  Should  she  send  Mr.  Scudder  over 
with  some  of  these  boots  ?  They,  the  Gerry's,  could 
have  them  as  well  as  not. 

Seeing  her  mother  hesitate  in  her  first  helpless 
amazement,  Salome  hastened  to  say  that  her  father 
had  some  old  rubber  boots  which  they  might  use,  but 
that  they  were  just  as  much  obliged  to  Mrs.  Scudder. 

And  the  visitor  departed.  Salome  turned  to  her 
mother.  She  looked  intently  in  her  face  for  an  in 
stant,  then  she  dropped  on  to  the  lounge  and  laughed 
until  the  laugh  was  turned  into  a  cough. 

It  was  very  early  the  next  morning  when  they 
started. 

Many  of  us  know  how  desolate  an  early  start  is. 
Particularly  is  it  so  in  the  fall  or  winter. 

Unable  to  sleep,  Mrs.  Gerry  rose  at  four  o'clock. 
She  shiveringly  dressed  by  the  light  of  a  little  kero 
sene  lamp,  while  Mr.  Gerry,  by  the  light  of  another 
little  lamp,  was  making  a  fire  in  the  cook-stove.  His 
face,  seen  dimly,  was  set  in  the  most  gloomy  expres 
sion.  He  hurried  out  to  the  barn  with  the  milk-pail. 
By  six  o'clock  the  horse  must  be  harnessed,  and  they 
must  start  for  the  station  so  that  the  travellers  could 
be  in  Boston  in  time  for  the  express  to  New  York. 

Mr.  Gerrry  was  going  to  do  his  own  work  while  his 
wife  and  daughter  were  gone ;  he  could  not  afford 
to  have  a  house-keeper.  Nowr,  as  he  pitched  the  hay 
into  the  mangers,  he  felt  that  affairs  were  too  bad  to 
be  borne.  He  could  do  his  own  work,  or  leave  it  un 
done  ;  but  to  stay  there  and  worry  about  Salome — he 
really  did  not  know  what  would  become  of  him. 

He  was  a  little  man,  with  a  narrow  face  and  dreamy- 
looking  eyes ;  it  was  a  face  that  showed  at  the  first 
glance  that  the  owner  of  it  would  never  be  "fore- 


42  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

handed,"  and  it  was  a  face  that  would  win  love  from 
a  strong  nature,  and  it  had  won — and  kept — his  wife's 
love  through  many  trying  years. 

Very  little  was  said  at  that  morning  meal.  Mr. 
Gerry  found  it  difficult  to  speak.  He  was  continually 
gazing  at  Salome.  His  conversation  was  mostly  con 
fined  to  urging  the  girl  to  drink  more  milk,  and  to  say 
that  she'd  be  awful  faint  travelling  if  she  didn't  take 
all  the  milk  she  could. 

And  Salome  tried  to  drink  the  milk,  though  it  was 
very  hard  to  swallow.  She  was  looking  at  her  father 
and  meeting  his  eyes,  then  dropping  her  own.  He 
heaped  his  plate  with  food,  took  up  his  knife  and  fork 
with  an  air  of  ferocious  appetite,  suddenly  put  them 
down,  pushed  back  from  the  table,  and  said  he  must 
go  and  harness. 

When  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Salome  clasped 
her  hands  together  with  a  gesture  that  was  not  like 
the  gesture  of  a  Yankee  girl.  She  turned  her  face 
towards  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  it's  awful  hard  on  father !"  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  makes  me  feel  wicked." 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  conscientiously  and  persistently 
trying  to  eat  her  breakfast  that  she  might  keep  up 
her  strength.  Whatever  happened,  she  knew  that  she 
must  be  strong. 

"I  know  it's  hard  on  him,"  she  said,  "but  it's  no 
body's  fault.  Don't  feel  wicked." 

In  a  moment  Mrs.  Gerry  rose  from  the  table.  She 
went  into  the  "  L  "  and  stood  an  instant  at  the  open 
door.  The  stars  were  glittering  in  a  clear,  far,  un 
sympathetic  sky;  but  all  over  the  eastern  heavens 
there  was  coming  the  faint,  blue  light  of  the  morn 
ing:. 


ANTINOUS  43 

The  cocks  were  crowing  in  the  yards  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  The  air  was  sharp  with  frost. 

Mrs.  Gerry  loved  that  cold  sky,  and  she  liked  the 
indescribable  odor  of  the  frost. 

It  was  heart-breaking  to  her  to  leave  her  home. 

She  glanced  towards  the  barn.  Through  its  dingy 
window  she  saw  the  glimmer  of  a  light.  She  half 
suppressed  a  sob  that  rose  to  her  throat. 

She  suddenly  lifted  the  skirt  of  her  gown  and  flung 
it  over  her  head  and  shoulders  ;  then  she  ran  out 
across  the  yard  and  entered  the  barn.  She  ran  as 
lightly  as  if  she  were  no  older  than  her  daughter. 
Perhaps  at  that  moment  she  felt  no  older ;  and  there 
was  a  tinge  of  red  on  her  face  and  a  glow  in  her  eyes 
as  she  hurried  over  the  barn  floor  which  was  littered 
with  "  swale." 

Mr.  Gerry  had  been  pitching  away  the  horse's  bed. 
His  lantern  was  hung  on  a  peg  at  the  end  of  the  stall. 
Instead  of  giving  light  the  lantern  seemed  only  to 
make  deep  and  grotesque  shadows.  The  whole  place 
was  full  of  the  strong  odor  of  hay. 

The  man  stepped  out  on  to  the  floor. 

"Why,  Salome!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  dropped  his  pitchfork  and  advanced  towards 
his  wife.  He  put  one  arm  about  her. 

"  Oh,  Lyman,"  she  whispered,  "it's  so  hard  to  go! 
And  how  lonesome  you'll  be  !" 

He  did  not  speak  immediately.  Then  he  said,  with 
tremulous  cheerfulness  : 

"  Don't  you  worry,  Salome.  I  don't  expect  to  be 
real  gay,  but  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  weather  it 
somehow.  If  only  the  child  gets  well — 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Gerry,  trying  to  re 
sume  her  usual  manner.  "  But  I  didn't  mean  to  trive 


44  ™E    TWO    SALOMES 

way  so ;  I've  got  to  have  all  my  strength.  I  feel 
sure,"  with  great  cheerfulness,  "  that  the  child  will  be 
ever  so  much  better.  I'll  run  back  now.  You'd  bet 
ter  harness  right  away." 

Mr.  Gerry  led  out  the  horse.  He  flung  the  breast 
plate  and  traces  over  the  animal's  back.  Then  he 
could  not  see.  He  leaned  against  the  old  meal  chest, 
putting  both  hands  over  his  face  with  a  feminine 
gesture. 

The  horse  reached  down  to  the  floor  and  began 
nosing  about  for  a  wisp  of  sweet  hay,  the  long  leather 
straps  dragging  here  and  there  as  it  did  so.  Then  it 
got  its  forefoot  on  one  of  the  traces,  and  its  head  was 
held  because  the  breast-plate  had  fallen  to  its  ears. 

Mr.  Gerry  dashed  his  hands  down.  He  sprang  for 
ward  and  struck  the  horse's  leg  lightly.  He  went  on 
harnessing  with  great  haste. 

As  he  buckled  the  last  strap  he  exclaimed,  aloud, 

"  All  there  is  about  it  is  I've  just  got  to  stand  it ; 
and  I'm  willing  to  stand  it,  too." 

It  was  a  cold,  early  daylight  when  the  two  women 
said  an  apparently  calm  good-bye  to  Mr.  Gerry  on  the 
platform  of  the  little  station.  The  cars  were  sweeping 
around  the  curve  just  north  of  them.  The  instant 
they  stopped  the  conductor  sprang  out  and  said, 

"  All  aboard !" 

The  solitary  trunk  was  swung  in  the  baggage-car. 
Mrs.  Gerry  and  her  daughter  hurried  up  the  steps 
with  the  hand-satchel  and  with  the  large  basket  of 
lunch,  which  they  hoped  would  serve  them  until  they 
reached  Jacksonville. 

Mr.  Gerry,  on  the  platform,  caught  one  more  glimpse 
of  them  through  the  window  of  the  car  ;  then  the  train 
had  glided  on  inexorably.  He  stood  there  alone. 


ANTINOUS  45 

The  station-master  came  up  to  him,  meaning  to  be 
friendly. 

"Going  to  bach  it,  ain't  ye,  Gerry,  now  that  the 
women  folks  are  all  gone  ?" 

Gerry  nodded. 

"  'Tain't  no  fun  to  bach  it,  now,  I  tell  ye.  I  tried  it 
when  my  wife's  mother  was  sick.  I'd  rather  be 
whipped  than  do  it  agin.  Folks  goin'  to  be  gone  all 
winter  ?'' 

Again  Gerry  nodded.  He  began  to  walk  away. 
This  man's  voice  and  words  were  intolerable  to  him. 

The  station-master  kept  by  his  side.  He  was  tell 
ing  himself  that  he  was  awful  sorry  for  Gerry,  and 
that  he  would  cheer  him  up  a  little. 

"  S'lome'll  come  back  blight's  a  button,"  he  said. 
"Looks  pretty  bad  now,  that's  a  fact,  but  she'll  be  all 
right." 

By  this  time  Gerry  had  reached  the  place  where  his 
horse  was  hitched.  He  unfastened  the  rope  eagerly. 
He  felt  as  if  he  could  not  wait  until  he  could  get 
away  from  the  man.  As  he  put  his  foot  on  the  wagon- 
step  the  other  said : 

"  Did  you  see  young  Redd  git  aboard  the  train  ?" 

He  winked  as  he  asked  the  question. 

"  No,  I  didn't."  Gerry  was  now  tucking  the  blanket 
about  his  legs. 

"Jest  as  the  cars  had  got  under  way  Redd  jumped 
over  the  fence  the  other  side  the  track  and  swung  on 
to  the  last  car.  Odd,  how  he  never  seems  to  hurry, 
but  he's  a  feller  that  always  gits  there,  I  guess." 

Mr.  Gerry  nodded.  His  horse  started  at  a  brisk 
pace  towards  home. 

In  the  cars  there  were  very  few  people.  It  was 
cold  and  desolate,  the  heat  not  having  diffused  itself. 


46  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

The  men  sat  with  their  hats  drawn  forward  over 
their  eyes,  the  women  had  a  huddled  look. 

Notwithstanding  Salome's  longing  to  go  South,  she 
found  the  starting  so  melancholy  that  she  would 
gladly  have  gone  home  and  given  up  the  journey. 

So  she  felt  for  half  an  hour.  Then  the  sun  was 
higher.  She  ceased  to  think  so  poignantly  of  her 
father's  face  as  he  stood  there  while  the  train  began 
to  move. 

The  sun  pushed  its  way  through  some  fleecy  clouds 
and  shone  out  triumphantly  in  the  clear  blue  of  the 
heavens. 

The  girl  turned  to  her  mother ;  she  was  going  to 
tell  her  that  this  sunshine  was  a  good  sign,  but  she 
did  not  speak.  There  was  something  in  Mrs.  Gerry's 
attitude  that  hushed  the  words  on  the  girl's  lips,  and 
yet  the  woman  was  sitting  up  erect,  with  the  large 
lunch-basket  on  her  lap  and  her  face  turned  straight 
ahead,  her  features  calm. 

"  She  is  thinking  of  father,"  said  the  girl  to  herself, 
and  she  turned  away  conscious  dimly  of  a  surprised 
conviction  that  her  father  and  mother  loved  each 
other. 

Hitherto  she  had  never  thought  about  that  possi 
bility.  They  were  very  old  in  her  eyes,  too  old  to 
love  much,  anyway ;  but  now  a  curious  light  came 
into  her  mind.  This  light  made  her  heart  beat  more 
rapidly.  With  something  like  shyness  she  put  out 
her  hand  and  took  her  mother's  hand,  pressing  it 
almost  with  violence  for  an  instant,  then  dropping 
it.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she  bent  forward 
and  whispered,  quickly: 

"Oh,  mother,  I  didn't  think  how  you'd  hate  to 
leave  father !  But  we  can  write  to  him  every  day, 


ANTINOUS  47 

you  know.  That'll  be  something  to  you — and  to  him, 
too,  won't  it  ?" 

These  swift  words  breathed  so  unexpectedly  into 
her  ear  made  Mrs.  Gerry's  face  break  from  its  set 
look  and  become  trembling  and  soft. 

She  made  a  movement  as  if  she  would  lean  her 
head  on  the  young  shoulder  so  close  to  her.  Then 
she  restrained  herself  and  took  herself  in  hand. 

She  spoke  cheerfully  : 

"  Of  course  it'll  be  something  for  him  and  for  me. 
We'll  both  write  to  him.  You  see,  Salome,  I  never 
left  him  before  since  we  were  married — only  to  go 
over  to  Aunt  Eudora's." 

Mrs.  Gerry  smiled  courageously  at  her  daughter. 
She  glanced  from  the  window  and  said  she  was  glad 
they  had  such  good  weather  for  the  beginning  of  their 
journey.  She  was  going  to  take  it  as  a  good  sign. 
Then  the  eyes  of  mother  and  daughter  met,  and  the 
two  smiled  at  each  other.  After  that  smile  the  girl 
sank  back  in  her  seat  in  content. 

She  was  starting  for  Florida.  This  knowledge 
made  those  huckleberry  fields  have  an  aspect  which 
they  had  never  had  before.  She  wondered  why  they 
looked  so  strange.  It  seemed  to  her  that  this  was  the 
first  time  she  had  ever  seen  them.  And  the  old  farm 
houses.  She  was  already  travelling  through  unknown 
countries. 

After  they  had  stopped  at  the  first  station,  Salome 
felt  that  it  was  a  very  exciting  thing  to  travel.  She 
wondered  how  those  men  could  sit  with  their  hats 
over  their  eyes  and  never  look  through  the  window. 
And  two  girls  across  the  aisle  were  talking  inces 
santly,  without  apparently  knowing  they  were  trav 
elling. 


48  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Suddenly  those  two  looked  behind  them,  glanced 
significantly  at  each  other,  and  were  silent. 

Some  one  was  coming  along  from  the  far  end  of 
the  car.  It  was  young  Redd.  He  nodded  at  the  two 
girls.  Would  he  sit  down  in  front  and  talk  with 
them  ? 

No ;  with  that  almost  ponderous  slowness  of  move 
ment  which  was  one  of  his  characteristics,  Redd  let 
his  tall  frame  down  into  the  seat  behind  Salome  and 
her  mother. 

"  Glad  you've  got  such  a  nice  day,"  he  said,  lean 
ing  towards  them. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry;  "  it  makes  it  so  much  more 
cheerful." 

She  could  not  help  looking  curiously  at  the  face 
behind  her.  She  found  it  so  calm,  so  impassive,  that 
she  could  have  doubted  the  reality  of  his  love.  And 
she  felt  a  certain  irritation  against  him  that  he  should 
look  so  calm,  for  calmness  so  often  gives  the  impres 
sion  of  assurance,  or  of  stolidness. 

Redd  now  settled  himself  comfortably,  putting  his 
arm  along  the  back  of  his  seat.  He  did  not  speak  again 
for  two  hours,  not  until  the  train  was  going  through 
some  dingy  suburbs  preparatory  to  entering  Boston. 
Then  he  leaned  forward  once  more.  He  addressed 
Mrs.  Gerry.  He  had  not  yet  noticed  Salome  in  the 
least. 

"  Going  to  New  York  by  the  Shore  Line  ?" 

••'  Yes." 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  get  your  tickets  and  see 
about  your  trunks.  It's  a  bother  for  women,"  he 
said. 

When  they  had  entered  the  station,  the  noise  out 
side,  the  people  going  to  and  fro,  so  confused  Mrs. 


ANTINOUS  49 

Gerry  that  she  was  very  grateful  that  Redd  happened 
to  be  with  them.  She  gladly  accepted  his  offer. 
She  gave  him  her  purse  and  the  check  to  their  one 
trunk,  which  Mr.  Gerry  had  tied  about  with  such  a 
profusion  of  rope. 

Then  she  sat  down,  and  her  head  began  to  ache  at 
the  sight  of  the  people  walking,  always  walking. 

But  Salome  did  not  sit  down.     She  could  not. 

Redd  had  disappeared.  Presently  he  came,  back. 
He  gave  Mrs.  Gerry  two  long  tickets.  He  put  some 
bills  into  her  hand.  He  said  he  had  ventured  to  get 
a  carriage  ;  he  explained  that  he  was  doing  first-rate, 
and  he  could  afford  to  spend  a  dollar  once  in  a  while. 
They  would  go  right  over  to  the  other  station,  and 
the  trunk  would  go  with  them.  So  they  would  make 
a  sure  thing  of  not  having  the  trunk  late. 

He  took  the  lunch-bag  and  the  satchel  and  walked 
out  to  the  entrance,  the  two  women  following. 

He  had  not  once  looked  at  Salome. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait  before  the  New  York 
train  was  ready.  How  the  people  streamed  in  !  Mrs. 
Gerry  wondered  that  she  had  thought  she  could  know 
how  to  travel.  She  was  tormented  by  a  desire  to 
count  the  people. 

Mr.  Redd  stood  in  the  aisle  of  the  car  where  he 
had  conducted  them. 

"  I've  been  looking  up  the  trip,"  he  said.  "  You 
know  you  go  over  to  Jersey  City.  After  that  you 
won't  change  till  you  get  to  Washington.  It's  easy 
enough.  You  can't  go  wrong." 

"  Oh  no,"  responded  Mrs.  Gerry  ;  "  of  course  it's 
easy.  We  shall  be  all  right." 

She  had  never  felt  so  bewildered  and  helpless  in 
her  life.  She  didn't  know  it  would  be  like  this.  If 
4 


50  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

she  could  only  get  used  to  the  people  and  the  strange 
noises. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  take  a  sleeper  right  through 
from  New  York,"  remarked  Redd.  "  They  say  folks 
don't  get  so  tired,  nearly." 

"  Oh  no ;  we  expect  to  get  tired,  and  we  can't 
afford  a  sleeper  anyway.  We've  calculated  on  not 
having  one.  I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you,  "Walter. 
But  ain't  you  afraid  you'll  be  taken  along  ?"  anxious 
ly  ;  "  ain't  we  going  to  start  ?" 

But  Redd  did  not  reply.  For  the  first  time  he  was 
looking  at  Salome.  He  stood  solidly  in  his  place, 
though  the  people  were  now  crowding  hurriedly  past 
him. 

A  bell  sounded.  There  was  the  cry  of  "All 
aboard  !"  outside.  The  cars  gave  a  lurch. 

The  young  man,  with  no  appearance,  even  now,  of 
haste,  bent  over  Salome. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  whispered.  "  I  don't  give  you  up. 
I  never  shall  give  you  up.  Good-bye." 

He  strode  to  the  door.  The  cars  were  now  gliding 
out  of  the  station. 

Mrs.  Gerry  watched  him  breathlessly.  How  foolish 
he  had  been  to  stay  so  long.  He  would  get  his  neck 
broken.  But  no.  There  he  was,  safely  outside  the 
car,  and  looking  up  at  her  with  a  smile. 

She  smiled  back  at  him.  And  somehow  she  was 
aware  of  a  warm  feeling  in  her  heart  for  him,  a  feel 
ing  which  she  had  not  known  before. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  her  daughter.  Salome's 
head  was  bent  to  her  hand.  She  was  pale  ;  but  no 
paler  than  was  usual  with  her.  As  the  mother  gazed 
she  saw  a  tremor  of  eyelid.  Then  suddenly  Salome 
raised  her  head  and  met  her  mother's  gaze. 


ANTINOUS  51 

"Do  you  know  that  we  are  on  the  way  South?" 
asked  the  girl,  joyously. 

And  with  those  words  she  seemed  to  fling  from  her 
everything  but  a  kind  of  childish  delight  in  the  jour 
ney  and  in  the  object  of  it.  She  gazed  at  everything. 
She  looked  with  never-ending  interest  at  every  person 
who  entered  the  car  ;  at  the  people  who  swarmed  out 
side  in  the  stations  at  the  larger  towns.  Her  face 
grew  grave  as  she  witnessed  partings,  or  she  smiled 
sympathetically  when  a  friend  met  a  friend. 

Sometimes  the  young  men  in  checked  ulsters  and 
brown  derby  hats,  with  russet  bags  hanging  from 
their  shoulders,  turned  to  look  a  second  time  at  the 
thin,  sensitive  face  at  the  car  window. 

They  thought  that  girl  didn't  know  much  about  the 
world,  and  she  had  rather  fine  eyes ;  where  was  she 
going,  anyway  ? 

And  one  young  man,  who  had  devoted  some  time 
and  attention  to  the  subject,  said  that  the  old  woman 
and  that  girl  in  the  shabby  jacket  were  going  to 
Jacksonville  ;  he  had  succeeded  in  seeing  their  tickets 
when  the  conductor  had  looked  at  them. 

At  this  information  the  two  others  who  formed  a 
group  near  the  door  of  the  smoker  laughed  boister 
ously,  and  one  of  them  exclaimed,  as  well  as  he  could 
with  a  large  cigar  gripped  between  his  teeth  : 

"  You're  going  to  Jacksonville,  too,  ain't  you, 
Moore  ?  I  tell  you,"  to  the  other  member  of  the 
group,  "  Moore's  always  in  luck." 

Moore  scowled  at  this  and  drew  back  slightly. 
There  was  some  savageness  in  the  tone  in  which  he 
replied  that  he  didn't  suppose  he  was  the  only  fellow 
on  board  the  train  who  was  going  to  Jacksonville. 
The  next  moment  he  announced  that  he  was  sick  of 


52  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

the  smell  of  tobacco,  and  he  walked  with  rather  an 
emphatic  manner  into  the  next  car,  where  he  sat  down, 
drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  appeared  to  be  gazing 
intently  at  nothing. 

He  was  thinking  that  he  had  been  a  confounded 
idiot  when  he  had  told  those  fellows  that  he  had  found 
out  where  that  girl  was  going.  She  seemed  a  nice 
little  thing.  He  did  not  like  to  remember  how  those 
fellows  had  laughed.  He  wondered  if  he  had  ever 
laughed  like  that.  It  was  a  coarse,  vulgar  thing  to 
do ;  and  it  was  odd  he  had  never  noticed  that  kind 
of  thing  before. 

He  shook  himself  impatiently  in  his  place.  He 
glanced  down  the  car.  He  could  see  the  straw  tur 
ban  with  the  bunch  of  black  velvet  and  the  blue  wing 
on  it.  She  was  sitting  in  the  same  place.  How  tired 
she  must  be.  He  would  like  to  know  if  she  were 
going  to  Florida  for  her  health. 

He  rose  and  walked  through  the  car  in  the  most 
hurried  manner,  as  if  on  an  important  errand.  He 
turned  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  In  ten 
minutes  he  returned,  moving  very  leisurely.  He 
looked  full  at  Salome  and  her  mother  as  he  did  so. 
Yes,  she  was  tired.  As  he  sat  down  again  he  found 
himself  thinking  that  she  never  could  bear  the  jour 
ney  in  this  car.  What  had  her  mother  taken  her  in 
this  car  for,  he  asked  himself,  angrily.  She  couldn't 
endure  it.  And  they  were  not  in  New  York  yet, 
wouldn't  be  there  for  more  than  two  hours.  What 
was  her  mother  thinking  about  ? 

At  this  stage  in  his  musing  Moore  caught  himself 
up  with  a  smile  of  amusement. 

He  drew  a  magazine  from  his  satchel  and  settled 
himself  to  read. 


ANTINOUS  53 

He  was  one  of  those  young  men  who  have  a  com 
plexion  like  that  of  a  blond  woman.  Underneath 
such  a  skin  the  blood  shows  too  freely. 

Moore's  beard  was  yellow  and  forked,  being  care 
fully  combed  in  that  manner.  Evidently  he  paid  great 
attention  to  his  mustache  also,  for  the  ends  were  drawn 
out  and  curled  up  in  that  fashion  which  one  sees  in 
the  portraits  of  that  mythical  D'Artagnan.  Under 
neath  this  mustache,  and  scarcely  hidden  by  it, 
Moore's  lips  showed  rather  too  red  and  full.  His 
eyes  were  not  blue,  but  a  light,  changing  hazel,  with 
some  tinge  of  yellow,  as  if  from  his  beard. 

Altogether,  Randolph  Moore  at  this  time  in  his  life 
was  one  of  those  young  men  whom  it  was  a  distinct 
pleasure  to  meet  and  to  look  at.  Any  elderly  person 
would  smile  involuntarily  at  sight  of  him,  and  would 
part  from  him  with  regret.  He  might  have  posed  in 
any  tableau  as  "  Youth,"  there  was  so  little  of  the 
past  in  his  aspect,  and  so  much  of  the  future.  His 
beauty  was  of  that  exhilarating  kind  that  goes  so  well 
with  the  general  idea  of  the  future,  which  is  always  to 
be  indescribably  lovely. 

When  he  had  been  in  college  somebody  had  called 
him  Antinous,  and  the  name  had  been  immediately 
hailed  as  the  most  appropriate  thing  that  could  be 
thought  of.  It  was  rather  cruel,  however,  that  his 
set  should  have  degenerated  into  the  fashion  of  chang- 

o  o 

ing  that  word  to  "Tinny."  But  that  is  what  those 
college  boys — I  beg  their  pardon — those  college  men 
did,  and  never,  except  on  the  books  of  the  university 
and  on  formal  occasions,  was  he  known  by  any  name 
save  Tinny  Moore. 

And  struggle  as  he  might  to  overcome  the  feeling, 
he  was  never  able  to  hear  that  word  Tinny  without  a 


54  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

shrinking,  as  the  "skin  shrinks  from  the  burr."     But 
he  did  succeed  in  concealing  that  he  shrank. 

He  left  college  with  no  love  in  his  heart  for  the  men 
there  and  for  the  place  where  he  had  been  Antinous, 
and  where  he  had  made  no  mark  at  all,  but  had  simply 
been  one  of  the  ruck  which  had  barely  captured  the 
B.  A.  for  their  names. 

Now  he  Was  in  his  twenty-fifth  year,  and  was  a  "run 
ner  "  for  a  boot  and  shoe  firm  in  a  suburb  of  Boston. 
But  he  had  an  uncle,  and  prospects. 

He  had  a  seat  in  one  of  the  parlor-cars  on  the  train, 
but  he  did  not  acknowledge  to  himself  why  he  did  not 
occupy  it  more.  What  he  did  acknowledge  was  that 
a  fellow  saw  a  great  deal  more  of  human  nature  in  a 
common  car.  And  he  had  not  yet  been  a  travelling 
salesman  long  enough  to  become  tired  of  human 
nature. 

In  a  few  moments  the  train  began  slowing  up  for  a 
large  station.  Moore,  who  had  not  read  a  whole  page 
in  his  magazine,  put  it  back  in  his  satchel. 

He  sauntered  out  to  that  door  which  was  nearest  to 
the  seat  occupied  by  the  Gerrys. 

He  suddenly  made  a  resolution  which  he  acted  upon 
directly  the  train  came  to  a  full  stop. 

He  stepped  to  Mrs.  Gerry's  side  and  looked  down 
at  her. 

He  lifted  his  hat. 

"We  stop  here  twenty  minutes,  madam,"  he  said. 
" W'on't  you  let  me  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  or  coffee  ?" 


IV 

"SLEEPERS  AND  BUFFETS" 

MRS.  GERRY  started.  She  had  not  noticed  Moore 
until  he  spoke.  She  was  so  weary  even  at  this  early 
stage  of  the  journey  that  she  was  alarmed  lest  she 
should  not  be  able  to  take  care  of  her  daughter.  Her 
head  ached  blindingly.  The  luncheon  she  had  eaten 
from  their  basket  had  been  tasteless  to  her. 

She  looked  up  and  met  the  young  man's  eyes.  She 
smiled  with  pleasure  and  gratitude. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will 
bring  me  a  cup  of  coffee/' 

Moore  lingered. 

"  And  the  young  lady  ?"  he  said.  Salome  also 
glanced  at  him,  and  she  also  smiled. 

"  I  should  like  a  glass  of  milk,"  she  replied.  Moore 
darted  from  the  car,  and  they  saw  him  run  into  the 
restaurant. 

"  What  a  pretty  boy  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gerry,  with 
some  animation. 

"  Yes ;  but  who  cares  for  a  pretty  man  ?"  said  the  girl. 

"  Well,  I  care  for  beauty  wherever  I  can  find  it," 
was  the  response,  "  and  I  do  want  some  coffee.  Get 
out  your  purse,  Salome,  won't  you  ?" 

Salome  had  the  shabby  little  purse  extracted  from 
the  shabby  satchel  before  Moore  appeared  from  the 
restaurant  door.  • 


56  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

He  was  followed  by  a  boy  bearing  a  tray  on  which 
were  two  or  three  dishes  besides  the  coffee  and  the 
milk. 

Mrs.  Gerry's  face  clouded  over  with  disapproval ; 
and  by  the  time  Moore  had  reached  her  she  was  look 
ing  decided  reproof  at  him. 

But  the  young  man  laughed  with  a  gay  disregard  of 
anything  she  might  say  to  him.  And  when  he  laughed 
one  was  very  likely  to  laugh  with  him. 

He  took  the  tray  from  the  boy  and  gently  placed  it 
in  Mrs.  Gerry's  lap. 

"  It  is  fried  chicken,"  he  said;  "and  I  made  them 
swear  it  had  been  fried  within  the  week.  If  they  have 
perjured  themselves,  is  that  any  fault  of  mine  ?  Mad 
am,  don't  scold  me,  please.  You  see  my  mother  never 
scolded  me,  and  at  this  age  I  couldn't. bear  it,  anyway. 
And  I  thought  if  you  would  let  me  eat  a  bit  of  bread 
and  a  drumstick  with  you,  you  would  forgive  me  and 
would  not  think  it  necessary  to  feel  under  any  obliga 
tion." 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  more  cheered  at  hearing  his  care 
less,  hearty  young  voice  than  she  had  been  cheered 
by  anything  in  many  weeks. 

She  had  started  from  home  with  the  fixed  resolve 
not  to  speak  to  any  one  whom  she  met.  Had  she  not 
read  how  dangerous  it  was  to  exchange  even  common 
courtesies  with  strangers  on  a  journey  ?  Did  she  not 
fully  know  that  the  ravening  lions  who  go  up  and 
down  the  earth  in  steam-cars  and  steamboats  always 
wear  the  most  attractive  outside  appearance  ? 

Yes,  she  knew  all  this ;  she  knew  it  when  she  looked 
up  in  Moore's  face  and  found  it  so  inspiring  in  its 
beauty  and  its  unlimited  good-will.  And  she  immedi 
ately  trusted  him  as  if  she  had  known  him  all  his  life. 


"SLEEPERS  AND  UUFFETS  "  57 

But  she  would  hand  him  some  money,  from  which 
he  scrupulously  selected  the  price  of  the  coffee  and 
milk  he  had  brought. 

He  lounged  against  the  seat  in  front  of  them  and 
ate  his  roll  and  chicken,  and  they  ate  also,  with  a 
gayety  and  relish  which  to  Mrs.  Gerry,  when  she 
thought  of  the  time  afterwards,  seemed  almost  mirac 
ulous. 

During  this  impromptu  repast  the  two  young  men 
who  knew  Moore  came  strolling  in,  each  with  a  tooth 
pick  in  his  mouth.  Moore  impatiently  interposed  his 
shoulder  between  him  and  them. 

They  stared  solemnly  as  they  went  by.  Then  they 
paused  and  stationed  themselves  where  they  could 
gaze  directly  into  Moore's  face.  It  was  in  vain  that 
he  tried  not  to  see  them.  He  could  feel  their  eyes 
boring  into  the  back  of  his  head. 

He  heard  the  conductor  cry  outside.  He  snatched 
up  the  tray  and  ran  quickly  towards  the  eating-house 
with  it. 

One  of  those  young  men  was  on  each  side  of  him. 

"Oh  my  !"  cried  one. 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  cheek !"  cried  the  other. 

"  Give  me  the  tray  and  you  go  back  to  her,"  said 
the  first. 

"  All  right,"  exclaimed  Moore,  with  unexpected  ac 
quiescence."  Take  it.  Til  pay  the  taxes." 

And  he  thrust  the  tray  at  the  young'  man,  who 
mechanically  took  it,  while  Moore  ran  back  to  the 
car. 

"  Sold  !"  cried  the  person  who  didn't  have  the  tray 
to  the  one  who  did  have  it.  The  conductor  shouted 
again. 

The  tray  was  hustled  on  to  the  counter ;    some 


58  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

money  was  flung  after  it,  and  the  checked  ulsters 
caught  on  to  the  last  car  as  it  glided  by  the  plat 
form. 

The  two  young  men  had  lost  their  toothpicks,  and 
they  felt  like  giving  Moore  a  few  stinging  slaps  on 
the  side  of  his  handsome  face. 

Instead  of  doing  that,  however,  they  agreed  to  stand 
round  within  sight  of  that  lucky  fellow  every  minute 
of  the  time  until  they  reached  New  York.  It  would 
do  him  good. 

Moore  got  very  weary  of  that  espionage.  He  could 
not  look  up  without  meeting  those  eyes  fixed  upon 
him.  He  wanted  to  rush  out  and  knock  those  fellows 
down  and  jump  on  them.  He  had  intended  to  linger 
near  Mrs.  Gerry  and  speak  to  her  when  he  had  a 
chance.  But  in  half  an  hour  he  gave  up  that  inten 
tion.  He  walked  sullenly  into  the  parlor- car  and 
sullenly  took  out  his  magazine  again.  But  after  a 
time  he  became  really  interested,  and  he  forgot  about 
those  two  women  with  whom  he  had  lunched.  The 
lamps  in  the  cars  were  long  ago  lighted.  Outside, 
as  the  train  sped  on,  the  fiery  dots  that  showed  where 
were  houses  and  street  lamps  became  more  and  more 
numerous.  Each  spark  glowed  to  Mrs.  Gerry  and  her 
daughter  when  the  car  door  was  opened  like  some 
fantastic  and  evil  spirit.  For  by  this  time  even  Sa 
lome  was  so  weary  that  she  had  lost  all  the  cheerful 
hope  with  which  she  had  started  that  morning.  Was 
it  only  that  morning  ?  Was  it  not  rather  weeks  ago 
since  she  had  seen  her  father  standing  there  in  front 
of  the  little  station  ? 

The  man  with  the  trunk  checks  jingling  from  his 
hand  and  with  his  arm  thrust  through  the  handle  of  a 
lantern  had  long  since  gone  through  the  train  shout- 


"SLEEPERS  AND  BUFFETS  59 

ing,  "  Baggage  express  !  Transfer  to  Brooklyn  and 
all  parts  of  the  city  !" 

From  the  time  when  he  had  appeared  the  Gerrys 
had  expected  momentarily  to  arrive  in  New  York. 
They  had  listened  eagerly  when  any  train  official  had 
entered.  And  still,  outside,  in  the  intensity  of  the 
darkness,  the  lights  increased,  and  the  tall  houses  be 
came  taller  and  had  now  grown  into  long  blocks. 

Mrs.  Gerry  had  shown  her  check  to  that  man  who 
went  rattling  his  bits  of  brass.  Somebody  behind  her 
had  given  up  her  check  and  received  another. 

One  of  the  principles  on  which  this  woman  had 
started  from  home  was  never  to  relinquish  that  little 
metal  square.  If  she  let  that  out  of  her  possession 
she  virtually  threw  away  her  trunk.  Everybody  had 
told  her  that. 

She  touched  the  sleeve  of  the  express  agent  and 
anxiously  showed  him  her  own  check,  holding  on  to  it 
tightly,  however,  lest  he  might  be  tempted  to  snatch 
it  from  her. 

He  bent  clown  and  looked  at  it. 

"  Oh,  you're  all  right.  You've  nothing  to  do  till 
you  get  to  Jacksonville,"  he  said.  You  wa'n't  going 
to  stop  in  Ne'  York  ?" 

"Oh  no." 

He  hurried  on  and  slammed  the  door. 

Just  then  the  train  plunged  into  the  tunnel  from 
which  it  emerges  at  the  station.  Salome  put  her 
head  for  a  moment  on  her  mother's  shoulder.  She 
coughed. 

"  How  tired  you  are  !"  whispered  Mrs.  Gerry. 

The  girl  laughed  slightly.  "  And  this  morning  I 
thought  I  should  never  be  tired,"  she  said.  She  drew 
a  long  breath  and  added,  "  Oh,  I  wish  we  could  be 


60  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

checked  through  like  our  trunk,  don't  you  ?  How  are 
we  ever  going  to  get  over  to  Jersey  City  ?  Isn't  it  to 
Jersey  City  we  have  to  go  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  stiffened  her  body  and  her  mind.  "  I 
guess  we  shall  get  over  there  easy  enough,"  she  an 
swered.  "  There  are  plenty  of  folks  to  tell  us,  heaven 
knows." 

"  Yes,  but  if  they  shouldn't  tell  us  right,"  respond 
ed  Salome,  despairingly.  "  You  know  how  much 
we've  read  about  what  dreadful  things  they  do  in 
New  York." 

Mrs.  Gerry  tried  to  smile  in  a  reassuring  manner. 

She  was  thinking  that  she  wished  she  could  see 
that  young  man  again.  She  could  ask  him  anything, 
and  he  would  know  all  about  those  things  of  which 
she  was  so  ignorant.  At  last  she  expressed  this  hope 
aloud. 

"  He  ?"  returned  Salome,  with  some  petulance.  "  He 
has  forgotten  us  long  ago." 

"  Very  likely,"  was  the  response. 

And  at  this  Salome  was  so  surprised  that  she  im 
mediately  wished  to  dispute  her  mother's  assent. 

It  was  true,  nevertheless,  that  Moore  had  forgotten 
them. 

But  when  the  train  was  actually  under  the  roof  of 
the  Grand  Central,  and  passengers  were  gathering  up 
bags  and  putting  on  wraps,  Moore  suddenly  remem 
bered,  and  he  recalled  them  with  a  wish  to  help. 

"  They  are  just  like  lambs,"  he  said  to  himself,  with 
a  smile  of  superior  knowledge.  "  They'll  think  they 
are  going  to  be  devoured." 

He  flung  his  coat  over  his  arm  and  hastened 
out. 

He  was  obliged  to  go  through  two  cars,  and  many 


"SLEEPERS  AND  BUFFETS"  61 

of  the  passengers  had  already  poured  out  of  the  train, 
which  had  now  stopped. 

Moore's  tall  figure  enabled  him  in  a  moment  to  sat 
isfy  himself  that  the  two  women  had  gone. 

He  sprang  off  the  step.  He  felt  unreasonably  dis 
appointed.  He  walked  forward  among  the  crowd, 
conscious  of  something  like  a  desire  to  hustle  them 
right  and  left.  Where  were  those  two,  anyway  ? 

He  was  going  directly  on  that  night.  It  was  only 
common  humanity  for  him  to  assist  them — they  would 
be  so  awfully  frightened.  And  how  tired  that  girl 
had  looked  !  What  was  there  in  her  face  ?  She  was 
a  real  little  Puritan,  with  a  leaven  of  something  else 
in  her.  How  on  earth  did  he  happen  to  forget  them  ? 
Well,  setting  his  mouth,  he  was  going  to  find  them. 
Moore  found,  at  this  stage  in  his  thoughts,  that  he 
would  rather  miss  almost  anything  in  his  life  than  to 
miss  finding  those  two  fellow-travellers. 

He  tried  to  reassure  himself.  If  they  were  going 
straight  on,  as  he  was,  he  should  come  across  them 
on  the  train.  Then  he  asked  himself  if  they  had  a 
place  in  a  sleeper.  Of  course  they  must  not  spend 
the  long  night  sitting  bolt  upright  somewhere.  It 
would  kill  that  girl. 

Here  he  hurried  on  more  impetuously  than  ever. 

He  did  not  see  them,  and  he  went  into  the  ladies' 
waiting-room,  carrying  a  very  anxious  face. 

Just  within  the  door  some  one  touched  his 
arm. 

He  turned  with  unreasoning  eagerness,  only  to  see 
one  of  his  acquaintances  of  the  journey. 

"You're  all  right,"  said  the  wearer  of  the  ulster, 
grinning  derisively;  "she's  in  here.  Ta,  ta." 

And  the  young  man  grinned  still  more1  broadly  as 


62  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

he  met  Moore's  ferocious  glare.  Then  he  walked  out 
into  the  street. 

Moore  stood  a  moment,  trying  to  detach  one  figure 
from  another  in  the  moving  groups  before  him. 

And  all  the  time  they  might  be  going  down  towards 
the  ferry. 

But  that  confounded  fellow  was  right.  There  she 
was.  She  was  half-way  down  the  long  room.  She 
seemed  to  be  alone.  And  she  was  leaning  back  in  her 
chair,  her  face  showing  very  white  at  this  distance. 

Moore  started  forward  precipitately.  Then  he 
checked  himself,  and  by  the  time  he  came  near  Sa 
lome  he  was  strolling  with  apparent  aimlessness,  and 
appeared  to  see  her  quite  by  accident. 

But  he  came  forward  briskly,  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  a  warm,  eager  smile  on  his  face. 

"  This  is  good-luck  for  me,"  he  said  ;  "  now  do  let 
me  be  of  service  to  you.  You  see,  I  know  all  about 
this  route,  and  I'm  going  to  Jacksonville,  too.  I  told 
you  that,  didn't  I  ?  We'll  take  the  transfer." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  so  much  !"  returned  Salome,  look 
ing  at  him  with  delighted  relief.  "  If  you  can  only 
find  mother !  She  has  gone  to  make  some  inquiries. 
You  see,  we  don't  know  a  thing  about  travelling.  It's 
all  so  confusing ;  and  one  gets  tired,  you  know.  But 
we  thought  we  were  very  wise,  for  we  had  read  ev 
ery  particular  about  each  route  South.  Oh,  there's 
mother !" 

Salome  rose  as  she  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Gerry  hur 
rying  towards  them.  Moore  quickly  took  the  Gerry 
lunch-basket  and  bag. 

"  Reading  doesn't  tell  you  much,"  he  remarked, 
gayly ;  "  you  see,  there's  nothing  like  experience. 
Now  you  follow  me,  ladies.  Just  make  believe  I'm 


" SLEEPERS    AND    BUFFETS "  63 

your  courier,  to  whom  you  are  paying  a  very  high 
price  to  conduct  you  to  Florida." 

Mrs.  Gerry's  face  looked  pathetically  relieved  when 
she  saw  this  young  man.  The  answers  to  her  ques 
tions  had  confused  her.  Those  answers  seemed  to 
suppose  that  she  already  knew  things  of  which  she 
was  entirely  ignorant ;  and  then  that  constant  neces 
sity  that  she  must  do  everything  the  cheapest  way 
hampered  her.  She  wanted  to  have  a  comfortable 
carriage  for  Salome's  sake,  and  thus  be  carried  to  that 
ferry  of  which  every  one  had  spoken.  But  no  ;  there 
was  a  cheap  way  to  go. 

Now  she  hastened  forward,  and  said  quickly  to 
Moore  :  "  You  must  not  conduct  us  in  any  expensive 
way,  for  I  can't  afford  it,  and  I  would  not  allow  you 
to  pay.  They  just  told  me  how  we  could  —  and  I 
suppose  there's  the  elevated  road — " 

She  pronounced  those  last  words  as  if  she  were 
mentioning  some  ravening  monster  that  was  yet  un 
derstood  to  be  tamed  for  man's  use.  Moore  nodded. 

"  I  think  we'd  better  take  the  L  road,  after  all,"  he 
said.  "  It'll  save  so  much  time,  and  it's  cheap.  You 
shall  pay  every  cent  of  your  fare,  never  fear.  Here 
we  are.  Now  don't  hurry  up  these  steps." 

He  glanced  back  at  Salome.  He  wanted  to  offer 
her  his  arm.  He  had  never  realized  before  how  try 
ing  those  long  flights  of  stairs  could  be. 

The  electric  lights  shone  in  ghastly  whiteness  all 
about  them.  The  outlines  of  the  hurrying  figures 
were  accentuated  strangely.  Human  beings  seemed 
to  be  transformed  by  that  light  into  a  weird  combina 
tion  of  the  human  and  the  goblin  ;  and  surrounding 
them,  like  something  tangible,  was  the  never-ceasing 
roar  of  the  city. 


64  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

Salome  felt  that  she  was  no  more  Salome  Gerry, 
the  girl  who  had  been  ordered  to  Florida,  but  she  was 
— in  truth,  she  did  not  yet  know  what  she  was.  And 
that  young  man  whom  she  and  her  mother  were  fol 
lowing — he  was  something  evolved  out  of  this  strange 
order  of  things. 

What  if  he  should  not  lead  them  to  that  ferry,  but 
should  take  them  somewhere  and  rob  them  ?  With 
this  last  thought  in  her  mind,  as  she  toiled  up  the 
steps,  she  looked  up  at  Moore.  It  was  at  that  in 
stant  that  he  was  glancing  down  at  her.  He  smiled 
with  such  helpful  kindliness  that  Salome  felt  guilty 
that  she  had  allowed  such  a  shadow  about  him  to  pass 
through  her  mind.  In  the  recoil  from  that  suspicion, 
which  yet  was  not  a  suspicion,  she  might  for  the  mo 
ment  have  trusted  him  too  much. 

But  of  the  two  women  whom  young  Moore  befriend 
ed  that  day,  the  elder  one  was  by  far  the  more  warmly 
grateful.  She  had  felt  the  burden  and  the  stress  of 
the  journey  with  an  almost  prostrating  power,  and  she 
had  borne  all  the  time  her  anxiety  for  her  daughter, 
an  anxiety  which  she  must  conceal.  A  hundred  times 
she  would  look  furtively  at  Salome.  She  saw  accu 
rately  the  increase  of  weariness.  How  would  she 
ever  get  to  Florida  ? 

She  recalled  the  gloomy  prophecies  of  those  people 
at  home  who  had  insisted  that  Dr.  Bowdoin  was  wrong, 
and  that  the  girl  ought  to  stay  at  home  ;  that  she  was 
not  "able  to  be  gadding  about." 

It  was  as  if  their  conductor  had  a  magic  power, 
Mrs.  Gerry  thought.  It  was  not  of  the  slightest  use 
to  try  to  distrust  him.  She  could  hardly  discern  how 
much  this  magic  power  might  be  ascribed  to  a  knowl 
edge  of  the  art  of  travelling. 


"SLEEPERS  AND  BUFFETS"  65 

Somehow,  without  any  more  worrying,  the  two  found 
themselves  across  the  ferry  and  aboard  the  train  wait 
ing  in  Jersey  City,  and  Mrs.  Gerry  had  kept  the  sharp 
est  watch  that  there  should  be  no  luxury  of  transpor 
tation.  She  knew  precisely  what  every  fare  had  cost 
and  paid  it  on  the  spot ;  and  Moore  was  too  well  bred 
to  resist  this  wish  on  her  part. 

All  the  time,  however,  until  he  left  them  on  the 
train,  he  was  trying  to  construct  some  plan  by  which 
that  girl  could  have  at  least  what  rest  a  place  in  a 
sleeper  would  afford.  His  own  half  section  had  been 
secured  when  he  had  bought  his  ticket  in  Boston. 

He  went  forward  into  that  car  now  and  sat  down. 
He  put  on  his  little  gray  travelling  cap  mechanically. 
Then  he  took  it  off  and  returned  it  to  his  satchel ; 
then  he  wondered  where  his  cap  was,  and  wished  that 
he  had  brought  it  along. 

"  She'll  be  so  awfully  tired  by  morning,"  he  was 
thinking.  And  he  asked  himself  if  that  girl  were  go 
ing  South  for  her  health.  And  then  he  repeated  his 
mental  assertion  concerning  how  tired  she  would  be. 

It  was  really  not  to  be  borne.  She  couldn't  spend 
the  night  in  one  of  those  seats.  And  the  filthy  air 
there  would  be  in  that  car  by  midnight,  when  the  men 
would  have  their  boots — with  their  feet  in  them — 
tilted  up  in  the  air  some  way,  and  their  mouths  would 
be  open,  and — of  course  something  must  be  done  about 
it.  Those  women  did  not  know  how  exhausted  they 
— she — would  be  by  four  o'clock. 

Moore  sat  quite  still  for  half  an  hour  with  his  mind 
what  he  called  "  on  the  stretch  "  to  think  of  some  plan 
which  would  not  wound  Mrs.  Gerry's  independence, 
and  yet  which  would  give  them  half  a  section  in  that 
sleeping-car. 
5 


66  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

During  this  process  of  thought  Moore  did  not  once 
ask  himself  if  his  pity  would  be  so  keen  if  that  girl 
had  happened  to  have  a  square  face  and  heavy  mouth, 
instead  of  the  face  and  mouth  she  really  did  have. 
And  yet  the  owner  of  a  square  face  and  heavy  mouth 
might  be  able  to  suffer  a  great  deal  if  she  were  in  the 
grasp  of  incipient  phthisis,  and  need  a  great  deal  of 
pity  also. 

After  a  while  Moore  rose.  He  found  himself  obliged 
to  leave  his  seat  even  more  often  than  is  usually  the 
case  with  travelling  young  men. 

"There  is  no  use,"  he  had  decided;  "I  shall  have 
to  tell  a  taradiddle  or  two.  But  I  hope  I  shall  be  for 
given.  I'm  going  to  do  evil  that  good  may  come." 

When  he  appeared  beside  Mrs.  Gerry  and  Salome 
he  did  not  look  like  a  person  who  could  do  evil  even 
for  the  sake  of  good. 

He  leaned  over  Mrs.  Gerry.  "  I  thought  I'd  come 
and  let  you  know  that  there's  a  half  section  in  one  of 
those  sleepers  that's  been  unexpectedly  given  up,"  he 
said,  and  thought,  "  I  haven't  told  a  lie  yet.  I  didn't 
expect  to  give  it  up,  that's  true  enough." 

Mrs.  Gerry  looked  questioningly  at  him.  She  did 
not  distinctly  know  what  a  half  section  meant.  Only 
it  must  be  a  place  to  sleep.  And  she  could  not  af 
ford  it. 

"  You  see,"  went  on  Moore,  "  it's  given  up,  and 
you  and  the  young  lady  might  just  as  well  have  the 
use  of  it.  It  won't  cost  a  cent,  and  will  be  there  idle." 

"  But  somebody  else  might  hire  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  Oh  no  ;  it  was  engaged,  you  understand,"  was  the 
response,  with  great  glibness ;  "  and  since  the  person 
who  engaged  it  will  not  occupy  it — that's  the  way 
they  do  in  these  sleepers." 


" SLEEPERS   AND    BUFFETS "  67 

Moore's  words  ran  along  with  a  quite  convincing 
appearance  of  truth. 

"  I  happened  to  think  of  you  and  Miss — Miss — 

11  Gerry,"  prompted  the  elder  woman. 

"  Miss  Gerry,  and  it  seemed  really  too  bad  that  the 
half  section  should  kind  of  run  to  waste,  you  know, 
and  Miss  Gerry  could  rest;  that  is,  she  could  come 
nearer  resting  than  she  can  here.  They  don't  have 
any  air  in  sleepers,  but  what  there  is  is  better  than 
there  will  be  in  this  car.  And  you  know  you  can  put 
your  nose  up  to  the  window  and  think  you're  breath 
ing.  And  then  you  can  press  that  electric  button,  and 
row  the  porter  no  end,  and  wake  up  all  the  folks  if 
you  can't  sleep  and  want  some  amusement." 

Moore  talked  with  the  utmost  ease,  for  he  thought 
he  saw  signs  of  relenting  on  Mrs.  Gerry's  face. 

How  could  she  refuse  on  account  of  Salome  ? 

"  Let  me  take  these,"  Moore  said.  And  again  he 
picked  up  the  basket  and  the  satchel.  And  again 
the  two  followed  him. 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  thinking  that  it  was  really  Provi 
dential.  And  since  it  was  not  the  custom  to  sell  a 
section — whatever  a  section  was — to  anybody  else, 
after  it  had  been  engaged  and  given  up,  why  it  was 
just  a  mercy  to  Salome ;  so  the  mother  decided  not 
to  question  their  good-fortune  any  more. 

But  at  the  door  she  did  restrain  their  guide  long 
enough  to  say  that  she  herself  could  sit  up  well  enough, 
but  if  her  daughter  could  have  a  chance  to  rest — 

"  Oh,  there's  room  for  you  both,"  was  the  response. 

Moore  stepped  across  from  one  car  to  the  other  ; 
then  he  put  down  his  burdens  and  reached  forward 
his  hands,  the  train  surging  and  lurching  on. 

Mrs.  Gerry  could    not  help   clinging  fast  to  him ; 


68  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

but  he  was  disappointed  that  the  girl  stepped  across 
with  something  of  the  lightness  of  a  cat. 

The  sleeping-car  seemed  to  the  dazed  eyes  of  the 
two  thus  entering  it  like  a  wonderful  palace  in  which 
they  had  no  right.  The  polished  woods  reflected  the 
lights;  the  people  sitting  there  were,  of  course,  quite 
another  order  of  human  beings.  The  beds  were  not 
made,  but  Mrs.  Gerry  supposed  they  were  to  rest  on 
those  beautiful  seats.  And  everybody  seemed  so  lan 
guid  and  indifferent. 

Salome  gave  one  glance  about  her,  then  she  looked 
at  no  one. 

She  was  conscious  of  a  swift,  strong  wish  that  she 
might  dress  like  a  certain  girl  she  passed  and  who  did 
not  seem  to  know  that  any  one  had  come  in. 

But  Salome  saw  that  girl  shoot  one  eye-gleam  at 
Moore,  who  was  not  conscious  of  it. 

The  young  man  saw  his  charges  seated,  then  he 
hurried  away  to  inform  the  conductor  that  he  had 
given  up  his  section,  and  to  warn  that  official  not  to 
betray  him. 

Presently  the  porter  came  with  solemn  respect  and 
suggested  that  the  ladies  might  just  as  well  have  their 
bed  made  if  they  were  tired;  ladies  often  had  their  beds 
made  as  soon  as  they  came.  And  would  they  be  so 
good  as  to  sit  over  there  ? 

The  intensely  respectful  black  man  did  not  divulge 
whose  silver  dollar  was  now  in  his  pocket,  nor  who 
had  proposed  this  course  of  action  to  him. 

The  former  owner  of  that  dollar  had  considered  the 
advisability  of  proposing  that  the  proper  black  man 
also  offer  supper  to  the  two  women  as  one  of  the  ar 
rangements  that  were  included  in  the  engagement  of 
any  part  of  a  section  in  a  sleeping-car,  but  this  thought 


"SLEEPERS  AND  BUFFETS"  69 

was  discarded  as  being  too  broad ;  Moore  was  afraid 
that,  ignorant  as  she  was  about  travelling,  Mrs.  Gerry 
would  immediately  suspect  that  it  was  an  impossibility 
for  a  railroad  company  to  be  so  munificent  as  to  "throw 
in"  meals. 

But  as  the  two  sat  across  the  aisle  and  saw  the  por 
ter  work  that  mysterious  change  which  culminates  in 
the  production  of  a  bed  with  sheets  and  blankets,  Mrs. 
Gerry  decided  that  it  would  be  a  good  time  to  partake 
of  a  lunch  from  their  basket.  While  they  were  thus 
feasting  on  viands  which  had  dried  a  great  deal  within 
the  twelve  hours,  Moore  came  in. 

That  young  man  had  walked  a  great  deal  since  he 
started  from  Boston. 

He  was  now  again  smitten  with  an  almost  uncon 
trollable  wish  to  order  the  most  sumptuous  banquet 
that  a  "  buffet-car  "  can  produce,  and  have  it  placed 
before  these  two.  But  he  held  sternly  to  the  resolve 
he  had  just  made  concerning  this  matter. 

He  said  he  only  came  in  to  say  that,  being  in  a 
sleeping-car,  they  wouldn't  have  to  change  in  Wash 
ington.  They  need  not  be  uneasy  about  a  change 
anywhere  ;  just  stay  where  they  were.  And  he  hoped 
they  would  rest,  and  he  was  sure  Miss  Gerry  would  be 
better  in  the  morning,  and — and — here  he  seemed  to 
change  his  mind  as  to  the  propriety  of  saying  some 
thing,  and  finished  with,  "  Good-night." 

As  Salome  responded  to  this  parting  salutation,  and 
as  Moore  stood  with  his  cap  lifted,  Salome  saw  that 
beautifully  dressed  girl  look  at  him  again,  and  she  fan 
cied  there  was  an  inquiring  scorn  in  the  glance  ;  and 
as  the  young  man  walked  away  the  scornful  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  country  girl,  whose  own  eyes  kindled  with 
indignation  and  flashed  out  for  an  instant. 


70  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

What  did  it  mean,  anyway  ?  Was  that  stranger 
wondering  why  a  young  god  should  stand  solicitously 
before  a  shabby  little  thing  like  Salome  Gerry  ?  For 
an  instant  the  shabby  little  thing  stared  insolently, 
then  the  eyelids  dropped  and  the  face  quivered  slightly. 
Salome  found  that  her  insolent  stare  had  exhausted 
her.  She  thought  that  she  hated  that  girl.  As  soon 
as  she  could  she  looked  at  her  again  with  a  curiosity 
she  could  not  quite  subdue,  and  now  there  occurred 
what  seemed  like  a  miracle  to  Salome. 

The  perfectly  dressed  young  woman  smiled  with  a 
beautiful,  full  brilliance,  apparently  right  into  Sa 
lome's  eyes,  and  Salome's  eyes  dilated  as  if  to  receive 
that  smile,  and  she  hated  the  giver  of  it  no  more. 
And  when  she  was  lying  upon  her  bed  an  hour  later, 
and  was  gazing  with  half-awake  sense  out  into  the 
dusk  of  the  night  through  the  window,  somehow  the 
feminine  face  and  the  masculine  face  were  inextric 
ably  mixed,  and  she  was  dreaming  of  them  even  while 
she  thought  she  was  fully  awake. 

She  slept  late  and  soundly,  much  to  her  surprise. 
Her  mother,  lying  patiently  by  her  side,  hardly  slept 
at  all ;  but  the  mere  knowledge  that  her  daughter 
was  resting  was  so  refreshing  to  her  mind  that  she 
almost  fancied  that  her  body  partook  of  that  refresh 
ment. 

Meanwhile,  Moore  had  ample  opportunity  to  know 
to  the  full  what  a  sacrifice  he  had  made,  and  he  was 
a  youth  who  liked  all  the  luxury  he  could  compass. 
His  presence  was  so  pleasing,  his  address  so  attract 
ive,  that  he  had  jumped — so  his  friends  said — into 
an  excellent  position.  He  had  a  good  salary  and  an 
interest  in  the  business  for  which  he  travelled,  and  he 
spent  his  money  freely.  He  would  argue  that  money 


"SLEEPERS  AND  BUFFETS  71 

was  of  no  possible  use  unless  you  spent  it.  He  said 
he  didn't  want  any  heirs  of  his  to  have  the  chance  of 
handling  his  money.  And  if  he  followed  his  present 
mode  of  life  he  would  probably  succeed,  as  far  as  re 
garded  his  heirs. 

But  now  he  was  sitting  with  his  head  back  on  the 
seat  of  a  common  car.  It  was  midnight,  and  the 
hours  until  morning  would  last  a  week.  And  how 
was  it  that  everybody's  boots  seemed  to  smell  of  stale 
tallow?  And  how  infernally  a  man  looked  asleep 
with  his  mouth  open.  And  how  could  a  human  being 
sleep  in  such  a  place  as  this,  anyway  ?  Having  asked 
this  last  question,  Moore's  own  mouth  fell  apart  and 
he  was  asleep  himself. 

Salome  was  alert  and  eager  and  hungry  in  the  morn 
ing.  Her  mother  acknowledged  that  she  had  "had 
her  worry  for  nothing"  about  the  child. 

The  girl  sat  by  the  window  and  watched  the  coun 
try  as  it  swept  on  by  her.  It  was  a  charmed  day  for 
her.  When  at  last  they  had  gone  through  Richmond, 
though  clouds  had  lowered  and  here  and  there  a 
large  flake  of  snow  came  floating  indolently  down,  she 
was  fancying  that  the  air  was  different ;  it  was  milder. 
She  was  continually  turning  to  her  mother  with  a 
soft  fire  in  her  aspect  and  saying :  "  Do  you  know, 
mother,  we  are  really  going  South?  Oh,  I  am  just 
as  happy  as  I  thought  I  should  be  !  I  wish  father 
knew!" 

She  sent  a  postal -card  to  her  father  from  every 
stopping  place.  The  porter  had  offered  to  do  any 
thing  for  her,  and  it  was  he  who  posted  her  notes. 
She  thought  sleeping-car  porters  were  the  kindest 
creatures  in  the  world. 

Why  should  she  suspect  that  another  dollar  caused 


72  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

this  one  to  hover  respectfully  and  helpfully  about  the 
two  women  through  the  entire  journey  ?  If  this  func 
tionary  were  shocked  at  the  early  hour  in  which  his 
special  charges  left  their  couch,  he  concealed  his  sur 
prise  and  hurried  to  turn  their  bed  back  into  its  day 
time  form. 

Salome  had  furtively  assured  herself  of  the  place 
where  that  girl  would  pass  the  night,  and  after  her 
own  struggle  to  dress  herself  on  her  knees,  her  first 
glance  saw  that  the  curtains  hung  undisturbed  before 
the  resting-place  of  the  unknown.  Indeed,  the  dra 
peries  were  motionless  all  along  on  each  side  of  the 
narrow  aisle.  Their  own  section  was  the  only  one 
divested  of  its  curtains. 

And  now,  as  the  two  sat  there  in  that  apparent  for- 
lornness  which  is  so  peculiar  to  the  inhabitant  of  a 
sleeper  in  the  morning  that  it  might  almost  be  called 
the  sleeping-car  despair,  the  black  man  came  along 
with  even  an  added  obsequiousness  and  asked  what 
they  would  please  to  order  for  breakfast. 

It  will  be  now  perceived  by  the  astute  reader  that 
young  Moore  had,  in  the  desperation  of  his  sympathy, 
reversed  his  decision  concerning  supper. 

The  early  morning  wisdom  had  made  him  decide 
that  Mrs.  Gerry  could  still  further  be  deceived — for 
her  own  good.  He  trusted  that  he  should  never  at 
tempt  to  deceive  people  save  for  their  own  good. 

"  What  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  somewhat  sharply,  when 
the  colored  gentleman  put  his  question  to  her. 

He  repeated  his  inquiry. 

"  But  we've  got  our  breakfast  with  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Gerry. 

"  We  furnishes  anything  you  pleases  to  order, 
gratis." 


" SLEEPERS   AND    BUFFETS  73 

The  man  made  this  assertion  with  such  calmness, 
with  such  an  air  of  having  said  the  same  thing  to 
scores  of  passengers  daily,  that  he  was  very  deceiv 
ing. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  meals  go  with  a  sleeping-car  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Gerry,  thinking  of  a  beefsteak  for  Salome. 

"On  sleepers  and  buffets,  yes,  ma'am,"  calmly  re 
sponded  the  man. 

Mrs.  Gerry  wavered.  Her  daughter  put  her  lips  to 
her  ear  and  whispered  : 

"  Mother,  I  don't  believe  it.  Don't  let  him  bring 
anything.  You  wait." 

Whereupon  Mrs.  Gerry  told  the  attendant  that  she 
wasn't  ready  yet. 

"All  right,  ma'am;  any  time."  Mrs.  Gerry  turned 
upon  her  companion. 

"Why  don't  you  believe  it?"  she  asked.  "And 
what  earthly  reason  should  that  negro  have  for  telling 
us  such  a  thing  if  it  isn't  so  ?" 

"  It  isn't  reasonable,"  was  the  reply. 

"Well,  that's  a  fact,"  returned  Mrs.  Gerry;  "it 
doesn't  seem  reasonable.  But  I  thought  if  you  could 
have  a  good  steak  now,  and  some  milk — " 

"Never  mind.  I'm  going  to  find  out  a  few  things 
for  myself,"  said  the  girl.  "  Let  us  eat  more  of  that 
evaporated  chicken  from  the  basket." 

"  I  shall  ask  that  girl  a  question — that  girl  who 
smiled  at  me  last  night,"  Salome  was  thinking  as  she 
put  her  teeth  into  the  chicken  from  the  basket,  and 
she  began  to  watch  for  some  one  to  emerge  from  be 
hind  a  certain  curtain. 


V 

MISS    NUNALLY 

"I  BEG  your  pardon."  Salome  hesitated,  but  she 
repeated  her  question,  now  speaking  in  that  rapid  way 
which  was  quite  different  from  her  manner  of  enunci 
ating  at  other  times. 

"  I  wanted  to  know,"  she  said,  "  if  it  is  the  custom 
to  furnish  meals  in  these  cars — I  mean  without  extra 
charge.  You  see,"  still  more  quickly,  "  I  never  trav 
elled  anywhere  before,  and  the  porter  said — 

Here  Salome  paused.  She  was  standing  by  the  seat 
of  that  "girl  who  had  smiled  at  her" — for  this  was 
the  way  that  person  was  designated  in  her  mind — and 
she  was  looking  down  at  her  with  the  most  undis 
guised  admiration. 

The  stranger  had  at  last  risen.  She  had  in  some 
way  made  her  morning  toilet  with  such  success  that 
from  appearances  she  might  have  performed  this  func 
tion  in  her  own  dressing-room. 

The  blond  hair  lay  in  lovely  half -curled  locks  on 
her  forehead ;  her  skin  was  in  color  and  texture  like  a 
faintly  tinged  rose-leaf  ;  her  thick,  light  eyelashes  gave 
a  quite  enchanting  appearance  to  her  eyes  ;  a  faint, 
indistinguishable  perfume  exhaled  from  her  as  if  it 
were  a  part  of  her  personality ;  her  short  upper  lip 
was  raised  a  little  now  as  she  threw  back  her  head 
slightly  to  look  at  her  interlocutor. 


MISS    NUNALLY  75 

"  Yes,"  said  this  girl ;  "  and  what  did  the  porter 
say  ?" 

"  He  said,"  answered  Salome,  "'that  we  furnishes 
meals  on  sleepers  and  buffets  to  them  that  wishes.' " 
Here  she  paused  to  laugh  slightly.  Then  she  added, 
"  I  suppose  this  is  a  buffet  and  a  sleeping-car,  too, 
isn't  it?" 

The  blond  girl  had  a  little  slab  fitted  in  front  of 
her  preparatory  to  having  a  breakfast  placed  upon  it. 
She  seemed  to  be  travelling  entirely  alone,  and  also 
seemed  eminently  capable  of  travelling  thus. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  again.  Then  she  moved  nearer  the 
window,  made  a  slight  motion  with  her  hand  which 
glittered  with  rings,  and  said,  "Please  sit  clown  here." 
Salome  obeyed,  taking  her  place  with  complete  self- 
possession,  but  with  a  kind  of  shyness  withal. 

The  stranger  was  carefully  pulling  out  her  long 
gloves,  which  she  would  not  put  on  until  after  her 
meal. 

"  Did  the  porter  tell  you  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"Certainly." 

"  Well,  the  porter  lied." 

"  Oh  !" 

"  Yes.  Railroad  corporations  don't  furnish  any 
thing  gratis." 

"  But,  how  strange  —I  don't  understand — "  began 
Salome. 

The  other  girl  laughed,  and  in  her  laugh  was  such 
a  curious  and  full  knowledge  of  the  world  that  Salome 
felt  like  shrinking,  and  inwardly  reproved  herself  for 
that  feeling.  She  had  a  consciousness  that  that  laugh 
revealed  something.  Oh,  what  was  it  ? 

"Of  course  you  don't  understand  —  how  should 
you?"  was  the  response.  Then,  with  a  suddenness 


7 6  THE   TWO   SALOMES. 

which  still  was  not  abrupt,  she  asked,  "  Will  you  tell 
me  your  name  ?" 

"  Salome  Gerry." 

"  And  mine  is  Portia  Nunally.  I  suppose  you  are 
going  South  for  your  health  ?" 

"  Yes.  But  what  made  that  porter  say  such  a  thing 
to  us  ?" 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  know?" 

"Indeed  I  do." 

Miss  Nunally  laughed  again,  and  again  Salome  had 
the  same  desire  to  shrink  away ;  but  this  time  she 
was  also  conscious  of  some  kind  of  attraction  which 
more  than  counteracted  that  other  emotion. 

"  I  will  tell  you.  The  porter  told  you  that  because 
he  was  ordered  to  do  so." 

"  Ordered  ?     Well,  but  by  whom  ?" 

"Oh,  you  must  guess  that." 

Now  Miss  Nunally  turned  and  gazed  full  at  the 
face  so  near  hers.  Salome  met  the  gaze  with  clear, 
uncomprehending  eyes. 

"  Well,  you  are  innocent !" 

"I  hope  so,"  was  the  indignant  response. 

"  But  there  is  a  great  charm  in  ignorance  and  inno 
cence,"  replied  Miss  Nunally,  as  if  she  were  in  some 
way  apologizing  for  her  companion.  "  If  you  want  me 
to  explain  fully,  I  will  tell  you  that  this  black  man  has 
probably  been  hired  by  that  beautiful  masculine  hu 
man  being  with  the  golden  beard,  who  looks  as  if  he 
had  stepped  out  of  some  old  mythology." 

"  Oh  f 

Salome  did  not  blush.  Her  eyes  gave  one  flash  ; 
she  pressed  her  lips  together  and  averted  her  head, 
her  gaze  resting  blindly  upon  the  country  that  stretched 
barrenly  about  them. 


MISS    NUNALLY  77 

Miss  Nunally  looked  with  calm  contemplation  at 
her. 

The  servant  now  arrived  with  the  tray  bearing  her 
breakfast. 

Salome  rose. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  to  the  girl ;  "  but  I  can 
hardly  believe  it.  There  is  no  reason  why  a  stranger 
should  do  such  a  thing.  That  young  man  has  been 
very  kind  to  us,  but  there  is  no  reason  —  not  the 
least." 

Miss  Nunally  poured  the  milk  into  her  coffee. 

"  But  don't  you  know  that  some  young  men  go 
about  doing  good  just  like  that  ?"  she  added.  "  The 
capacity  for  indiscriminate  philanthropy  inherent  in 
some  of  these  handsome  gods  is  perfectly  marvellous." 

By  the  time  this  sentence  was  finished  Salome  again 
felt  that  she  hated  that  girl. 

She  went  back  to  her  seat.  As  she  sat  down  she 
inwardly  asserted  that  what  she  had  just  heard  could 
not  be  possible. 

But  in  the  next  moment  she  told  herself  that  it  was 
true  ;  and  more  than  that :  it  was  true  that  that  young 
man  had  paid  for  the  section  in  the  sleeping-car  which 
she  and  her  mother  were  occupying. 

She  took  hold  of  her  mother's  arm  with  a  sharp 
grip.  At  the  same  time  she  bent  forward  and  lifted 
the  lunch-basket. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Salome  ?'' 

"  Nothing  ;  only  I'm  going  back  into  that  other  car." 

The  girl  rose.  Her  figure  and  face  were  so  deter 
mined  that  Mrs.  Gerry  picked  up  the  bag  and  rose 
helplessly.  But  she  could  not  refrain  from  saying  as 
she  did  so  : 

"But  why— what?" 


78  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

"Oh,  don't  talk  now,"  whispered  the  girl,  "but 
come." 

As  she  followed  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Gerry  could  not 
help  wondering  fearfully  if  this  sudden  whim  were 
some  phase  of  Salome's  disease  ;  and  the  wild  hope 
that  there  was  a  doctor  on  the  train  went  through  her 
mind. 

At  first  they  could  not  find  seats  in  that  common 
car — how  odious  and  how  common  it  seemed  now ! — 
but  at  last  they  were  crowded  in  with  their  hand-bag 
gage. 

Mrs.  Gerry  anxiously  examined  her  daughter,  but 
she  could  only  see  a  hint  of  her  profile. 

"I  hope  you  know  what  you've  done  this  for,"  she 
said. 

Salome  shrugged  one  shoulder. 

oo 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered.     "  It  is  because — 

When  she  had  proceeded  thus  far  in  the  giving  of 
her  reason  she  was  struck  dumb  with  a  sudden  resolu 
tion  that  she  would  not  tell  her  mother  what  that 
young  man  had  done.  No,  she  would  not  tell ;  although 
when  she  had  started  to  leave  the  sleeping-car  she  had 
thought  that  she  could  not  wait  to  talk  over  the  whole 
affair.  But  now,  no — now  she  must  be  silent. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  It  was  because  I  had  a  whim  that  I  wanted  to  get 
out  of  that  sleeper.  I  couldn't  stay  there  a  minute 
longer.  I  thought  I  should  choke." 

"  I  think  you'll  be  much  more  likely  to  choke  here," 
said  Mrs.  Gerry,  trying  to  be  resigned  to  this  whim  ; 
"  the  air  is  horrible." 

"Do  you  think  so?     Why,  it's  quite  delightful." 

Again  Mrs.  Gerry  asked  herself  if  incipient  phthisis 
affected  the  mind.  And  she  would,  if  she  could  do  so 


MISS    NUNALLY  79 

privately,  ask  the  conductor  if  there  were  a  doctor  in 
any  of  the  cars. 

After  a  moment  of  silence  Mrs.  Gerry  remarked 
that  she  was  afraid  that  young  man  would  think 
them  very  rude. 

"  It's  of  no  consequence  what  he  thinks,"  said 
Salome. 

Then  she  recalled  the  exact  intonation  of  Portia 
Nunally's  laugh,  and  shivered  a  little  as  she  did  so. 

Mrs.  Gerry  drew  herself  up.  It  would  not  do  to 
yield  in  every  way  just  because  Salome  was  not  well. 

"  I  think  it's  of  consequence  for  us  to  be  polite," 
she  said,  with  some  severity;  "  and  that  young  man — 

Salome  shrugged  her  shoulders  again. 

"  I'm  so  tired  of  hearing  about  that  young  man," 
she  said. 

"  You're  not  tired  of  hearing  me  talk  about  him," 
sharply  replied  Mrs.  Gerry,  who  had  a  fleeting  inclina 
tion  to  put  her  hands  on  the  girl  and  shake  her,  "  for 
I've  hardly  mentioned  him.  I — 

"  Mother,"  Salome  faced  round  towards  her  com 
panion,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  if  you  go  right 
on  about  him.  I —  '  here  she  laughed — "  I  don't 
know  but  I  shall  begin  to  cough.  If  I  cough  you'll 
be  obliged  to  be  silent,  for  I  can't  hear  what  you  say. 
Oh,  you  dear  old  thing,"  putting  her  head  on  her 
mother's  shoulder,  "  can't  you  let  me  have  a  few  absurd 
notions  ?  What's  the  use  of  being  a  woman  if  you 
can't  be  unreasonable  ?  Just  tell  me  that,  will  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  breathed  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  must  say  you  are  taking  full  advantage  of  your 
being  a  woman,"  she  remarked.  "  But  it  isn't  half 
so  comfortable  here.  I  didn't  know  there  was  such  a 
difference." 


8o  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

After  a  while,  during  which  Salome  had  her  face 
steadily  turned  towards  the  window,  without  seeing 
anything,  she  began  to  repent  that  she  had  taken  this 
sudden  action.  But  it  was  not  the  kind  of  repentance 
which  leads  to  reformation. 

Her  face  gradually  took  on  its  most  serious  ex 
pression. 

She  was  going  through  one  of  her  habitual  pro 
cesses  of  self-examination,  and  she  was  finding  herself 
a  very  reprehensible  creature.  She  was  afraid  there 
was  hardly  a  leaven  of  good  in  her.  She  was  quite 
discouraged  about  herself.  She  had  not  had  what 
she  would  have  called  a  "good  spell "  at  self-examina 
tion  since  she  had  first  known  she  was  going  to 
Florida. 

She  was  convinced  that  self-examination  was  an  ex 
tremely  wholesome  process,  because  it  wilted  one  so 
and  was  so  disagreeable.  Sometimes  it  required  a 
full  twenty-four  hours  for  her  to  recover  and  regain 
anything  like  a  comfortable  view  of  herself  after  one 
of  these  "  spells." 

But  thus  far  in  her  life  she  had  found  it  an  absolute 
necessity  to  examine  her  own  soul  at  frequent  inter 
vals,  and  with  a  rigidness  and  relentlessness  that 
would  have  suggested  the  probability  of  her  finding 
some  terrible  moral  canker  spot. 

At  these  times  it  was  as  if  her  identity  were  under 
a  microscope  and  she  had  her  eye  upon  it.  She 
found  herself  under  that  magnifying  power  to  be 
quite  a  monster  of  sin,  and  she  was  ferocious  in  her 
judgment  of  herself. 

Was  it  at  such  times  and  for  hours  after  such  periods 
that  her  face  had  that  austere  look  which  was  in  such 
marked  contradiction  to  the  face  itself  ? 


MISS   NUNALLY  8 1 

Mrs.  Gerry  had  had  occasion  more  than  once  dur 
ing  Salome's  childhood  to  remonstrate  with  her  upon 
her  tendency  to  a  morbid  conscientiousness. 

The  mother  had  told  her  husband  that  Salome  was 
growing  too  fast,  that  she  did  not  sleep  enough,  that 
she  must  be  out-of-doors  more.  The  woman,  watch 
ing  her  child  with  healthy  common-sense  as  well  as 
with  love,  decided,  as  that  cynical  Frenchman  had 
long  ago  decided,  that  the  conscience  of  an  extremely 
healthy  human  being  is  usually  quiescent,  whether 
that  human  being  be  good  or  bad.  But  there  was  no 
cynicism  in  this  New  England  woman's  decision  ;  and 
she  would  have  been  inexpressibly  shocked  had  she 
ever  thought  to  carry  out  this  kind  of  reasoning  still 
further. 

Prosper  Merimee's  recipe  for  the  preservation  of 
beauty — "  a  hard  heart  and  a  good  digestion  " — is  an 
excellent  recipe  for  the  procuring  of  a  certain  kind  of 
mental  repose ;  that  is,  if  a  person  is  willing  to  de 
generate  into  a  pagan. 

Randolph  Moore  had  never  in  his  life  had  an  hour 
of  serious  self-examination. 

There  wasn't  a  bit  of  use  in  any  such  kind  of  thing 
as  that.  He  meant  to  do  about  the  right  thing,  and 
if  that  wasn't  enough,  he  should  like  to  know  what 
was  enough.  He  wasn't  going  in  for  that  kind  of  rot, 
not  he.  It  took  all  the  vim  out  of  a  fellow.  Why,  a 
fellow  wasn't  better  than  a  wet  rag  if  he  were  con 
tinually  poking  about  in  his  spirituality,  and  fishing 
up  this  or  that  dreadful  thing  and  making  no  end  of 
a  row  over  it.  Why,  contradictorily,  he  knew  a  man 
in  his  class  in  college  who  was  always  up  to  that  sort 
of  thing,  digging  down  into  himself  and  analyzing 
motives,  and  that.  He  was  an  awfully  good  fellow, 
6 


82  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

too,  smart  as  a  trap ;  he  was  a  minister  now.  He, 
Moore,  wouldn't  like  to  be  one  of  his  congregation  ; 
but  there  was  no  milk-sop  about  that  fellow,  either- 
had  moral  courage,  and  moral  courage  was  a  thing 
most  folks  didn't  have.  It  was  easy  enough  to  be 
brave  physically,  but  when — 

So  Moore  used  to  talk  when  he  was  upon  the  sub 
ject  of  that  classmate  of  his  and  the  more  impersonal 
one  of  self-examination. 

At  this  moment  this  young  man  was  in  the  smoking- 
car.  He  did  not  care  much  for  smoking.  He  said  it 
was  beastly — which  it  isn't,  as  beasts  have  no  such 
human  proclivities — and,  besides,  tobacco  left  such  a 
taste  in  one's  mouth. 

Moore  had  walked  a  good  deal  up  and  down  the 
train,  but  so  far  during  the  day  he  had  kept  himself 
from  entering  a  particular  sleeper.  He  had  made  a 
resolve  that  he  would  not  be  hanging  about  them  all 
the  time.  He  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  explain 
who  it  was  he  meant  by  "them."  And  he  didn't 
know  but  that  they  might  suspect  something  when 
the  darky  offered  them  breakfast.  Perhaps  he  had 
gone  too  far  that  time. 

He  played  "  railroad  whist "  with  some  men,  who 
seemed  as  if  they  would  go  on  shuffling  and  dealing 
those  cards  for  years,  chewing  the  ends  of  their  big 
black  cigars  as  they  did  so,  and  grunting  rather  than 
speaking  the  few  words  necessary  to  be  uttered.  At 
last  Moore  flatly  refused  to  continue.  He  looked  at 
his  watch.  He  glanced  out  of  the  window.  There 
were  the  Carolina  pines,  and  there  were  the  negroes 
rolling  about  the  barrels  of  tar. 

"We  are  really  getting  clown  a  little,"  he  said. 

He  strolled  outside  and  stood  with  his  feet  well 


MISS    NUNALLY  83 

planted,  and  his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets,  his 
travelling-cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes. 

He  inhaled  with  a  keen  delight  the  pine  odor ;  he 
was  aware  of  the  softening  atmosphere ;  the  fluff  of 
white  cloud  here  and  there  in  the  blue  heavens  told 
him  that  he  was  escaping  from  the  winter.  Those 
shambling  negro  figures  leaning  up  against  those 
barrels  were  just  the  figures  for  the  rest  of  the  scene. 

Then,  with  a  swift,  sweet  poignancy,  a  thought  of 
some  one  came  to  him.  It  was  the  thought  of  an 
ascetic  and  yet  flexible  face. 

Moore  took  off  his  cap.  The  action  was  involun 
tary  and  almost  mechanical.  When  he  replaced  it  he 
smiled.  Then  he  turned  with  the  air  of  a  man  with  a 
definite  purpose,  and  hurried  into  that  car  where  he 
expected  to  find  Salome  and  her  mother. 

Miss  Portia  Nunally,  very  much  bored  with  her 
novel  and  quite  weary  of  the  sight  of  pine-trees  and 
darkys  and  tar- barrels,  saw  him  coming,  and  began 
to  read  intensely.  Still,  she  knew  the  precise  instant 
in  which  to  look  up,  and  she  could  not  help  smiling 
derisively  when  she  saw  the  young  man's  disappointed 
face. 

Yet,  though  her  smile  was  derisive,  there  was  that 
in  it  which  drew  Moore's  glance  to  her,  and  in  the 
moment  her  eyes  met  his  her  smile  changed  inde 
scribably.  But  she  did  not  look  at  him  any  more  at 
that  moment.  She  returned  to  her  book  with  a  re 
newal  of  absorbed  interest. 

Moore,  after  staring  again  at  that  empty  section  as 
if  his  stare  might  materialize  the  forms  of  the  two 
who  had  left  that  place,  turned  about  and  strode  out 
.  of  the  car. 

Miss  Nunally  dropped  her  book  beside  her. 


84  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  He  is  certainly  a  beautiful  youth,"  she  was  think 
ing,  disdainfully,  "  and  he  is  in  love  with  the  little 
Puritan  girl ;  or  he  is  going  to  be  in  love  with  her. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  uninteresting  as  the 
man  who  is  in  love — but  not  with  you." 

Here  Miss  Nunally  pushed  one  lock  of  hair  gently 
back  from  her  right  eyebrow ;  and  in  its  present  posi 
tion  it  was  evident  that  this  lock  of  hair  was  superior 
as  an  attraction  to  what  it  had  been  before.  But 
you  would  not  have  said  that  its  owner  knew  this 
fact. 

Moore's  impatience  took  him  very  rapidly.  The 
instant  he  entered  the  second  car  his  eye  darted  in 
tuitively  to  the  seat  where  the  two  women  sat.  The 
next  moment  he  was  standing  beside  them. 

Mrs.  Gerry  bowed  to  him  cordially ;  Salome  grave 
ly.  Salome  was  still  under  the  dominion  of  her  mood 
of  self-examination.  Besides,  she  knew  what  this 
young  man  had  done. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  began  Moore,  eagerly,  "  but  I  sup 
pose  you  have  found  me  out." 

Mrs.  Gerry  looked  at  him  with  an  amused  interro 
gation  in  her  face.  Salome,  after  her  demure  greet 
ing,  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"We  are  usually  sorry  when  we  are  found  out,"  said 
Mrs.  Gerry  ;  "  but  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  How 
have  we  found  you  out  ?" 

"Oh,  don't  you  know  ?"  still  more  eagerly.  "I'm 
afraid  Miss  Gerry  knows.  She  isn't  approving  of  me 
now,  and  it  kills  me  not  to  be  approved.  If  I'm  not 
found  out  I  won't  confess  and  repent.  But  if —  Mrs. 
Gerry,  do  believe  my  intentions  were  good.  They 
were,  indeed.  There  wasn't  an  ulterior  motive  in  me  ; 
that's  the  simple  truth.  I  do  wish  you  would  go  back 


MISS    NUNALLY  85 

into  the  sleeper.  It  is  really  too  bad  to  make  me  feel 
such  a  wretch  ;  I  can't  bear  it.  I  saw  how  weary  you 
ladies  were  ;  and  I  knew  so  well  how  you'd  feel  after 
sitting  up  all  night  that — " 

Here  Moore  paused  with  his  eyes  on  that  averted 
face  by  the  window.  He  could  not  possibly  know  that 
at  this  moment  Salome  was  hearing  again  Miss  Nunal- 
ly's  significant  laugh,  and  that  the  remembrance  hard 
ened  her  heart. 

She  did  not  change  her  position  in  the  least. 

Moore  tried  not  to  show  his  discontent.  He  made 
no  attempt  to  finish  his  sentence. 

He  moved  slightly  to  let  some  one  pass.  Then  he 
bent  down  still  lower,  giving  his  whole  attention  ap 
parently  to  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  Please,  please,  don't  be  hard  on  me !"  he  ex 
claimed,  in  the  lowest  possible  tone.  Mrs.  Gerry  was 
somewhat  bewildered. 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 
Here  there  was  a  very  slight  but  impatient  motion 
from  the  girl  who  was  staring  through  the  window. 

"It  was  just  my  kindness  of  heart,  Mrs.  Gerry," 
Moore  said,  now  beginning  to  be  aware  of  a  genuine 
sense  of  embarrassment,  and  consequently  feeling 
angry  with  that  girl.  "  I  wanted  to  do  you  a  service, 
and  I  knew  you  wouldn't  take  my  chance  in  the 
sleeper  if  you  knew  it  was  mine." 

Here  Mrs.  Gerry  drew  herself  back  a  little,  and 
Moore  stood  upright,  frowning  and  twisting  his 
mustache. 

He  was  thinking  that  he  was  entirely  mistaken 
when  he  had  fancied  himself  interested  in  that  girl. 
She  was  nothing  but  a  little  cold-blooded  prude  of  a 
Puritan,  and  he  didn't  care  in  the  least  what  she 


86  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

thought  of  him,  or  whether  she  thought  anything  or 
not.  And  evidently  she  wasn't  going  to  look  at  him 
again. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  with  great  dig 
nity,  "  but,  of  course,  we  cannot  deprive  you  of  your 
rights  any  further.  And — and — "  here  she  could  not 
help  looking  up  at  him  with  that  affectionate  admira 
tion  with  which  middle-aged  women  were  often  tempt 
ed  to  regard  him,  "  and  I  am  so  sorry  that  you  de 
ceived  us." 

Moore  met  her  look  with  eyes  that,  unknown  to 
their  owner,  were  melting  with  wistful  deprecation. 

"  You  can't  be  half  so  sorry  as  I  am,"  he  said. 
"  And  now  you'll  be  uncomfortable  all  the  rest  of  the 
journey,  and  you  won't  let  me  help  you ;  and,  worst  of 
all,  you  will  always  distrust  me.  I  don't  see  how  I'm 
going  to  bear  it." 

As  he  said  these  last  words  he  looked  again  at 
Salome,  and  she  now  turned  suddenly  and  looked  at 
him. 

"  Miss  Gerry,"  he  said,  impulsively,  "  do  intercede 
for  me  with  your  mother.  I  can  see  that  she  is  going 
to  be  severe." 

Salome  lowered  her  eyes.  Her  countenance  did 
not  change  from  its  former  expression,  and  what  it 
was  that  the  lowered  lids  concealed  the  young  man 
could  not  guess. 

"  It  will  be  as  well  for  you  to  plead  your  own  cause," 
she  answered.  "  But  I  am  sorry  you  deceived  us." 
She  could  not  help  adding :  "  That  black  man  offered 
us  breakfast,  too." 

Moore  drew  himself  up. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  be  obdurate — "  he  bowed 
stiffly  and  walked  away. 


MISS    NUNALLY  87 

"  Really,"  he  was  thinking,  "if  those  women  choose 
to  take  things  in  that  way  I've  had  enough  of  them." 

And  he  went  and  took  a  hand  again  with  those 
bores  who  had  never  stopped  playing  railroad  whist. 
And  he  trumped  his  partner's  trick  so  that  his  partner 
swore  viciously.  But  Moore  had  not  even  noticed 
what  card  had  been  turned  for  trumps. 

Left  by  themselves,  the  two  women  gazed  out  at  the 
scenery  again.  Salome  seemed  completely  absorbed 
in  the  interminable  flat  stretches  of  country  where 
now  and  then  were  lonesome  little  settlements. 

Occasionally  she  raised  her  window  and  put  her 
face  to  the  opening,  inhaling  deep  breaths  of  the  de 
licious  air  as  she  did  so. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed.  All  at  once,  without  any 
preliminary  remark,  Salome  turned  to  her  mother  and 
said,  with  some  sharpness, 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  need  to  have  been  quite  so 
hard." 

Mrs.  Gerry  jumped  out  of  a  partial  doze. 

"  Hard  !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  what  are  you  talking 
about  ?  Oh,  you  mean  that  young  man  ?  I  thought  I 
was  very  mild  with  him.  He  is  one  of  that  kind  that 
wins  you  in  spite  of  yourself.  But  we  ought  not  to 
be  won  by  a  mere  face  and  manner,"  sententiously. 

"  I  don't  know  as  he  won  anybody,"  said  Salome. 
"Anyway,  I'm  weary  of  hearing  about  him." 

Mrs.  Gerry  fixed  a  wondering  gaze  on  her  daughter. 

"  How  tired  you  are  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Can't  you 
lean  on  me  and  have  a  nap  ?  It  does  seem  as  if  we 
never  should  get  there  now.  I  suppose  the  last  half 
of  anything  is  always  the  most  tedious." 

The  girl  did  as  her  mother  suggested.  She  rested  her 
slight  form  within  her  mother's  arm  and  closed  her  eyes. 


88  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

And  at  last,  three  hours  behind  time,  the  train  drew 
slowly  into  Jacksonville,  and  Mrs.  Gerry  and  her 
daughter  stepped  out  of  their  car  so  begrimed  and  so 
bewildered  that  the  younger  woman  was  almost  bereft 
of  all  care  as  to  what  should  become  of  them. 

They  had  not  seen  Moore  since  his  confession. 

Now,  as  they  stood  there  hesitatingly,  and  as  the 
people  hurried  about,  and  the  colored  drivers  came 
solicitously  among  the  throng,  the  young  man  walked 
by  them  and  ceremoniously  doffed  his  cap  as  he 
did  so. 

He  was  not  in  a  good  temper.  He  said  it  was  the 
last  time  he  would  ever  notice  a  girl  with  that  con 
founded  Puritan  face.  He  didn't  know  that  he  cared 
if  she  were  made  ill  by  the  journey.  It  was  nothing 
to  him,  anyway. 

He  took  a  seat  in  a  carriage.  He  told  the  driver 
to  take  him  to  just  what  hotel  he  pleased. 

Where  was  the  girl  going  ?  He  didn't  believe  they 
could  afford  to  stay  in  Jacksonville.  Well,  he  should 
probably  never  see  her  again.  And  he  didn't  care  in 
the  least. 

After  a  few  moments'  hesitation  Salome  and  her 
mother  went  into  the  waiting-room. 

Mrs.  Gerry  felt  that  she  had  never  before  known 
how  irritating  it  is  to  be  poor.  It  was  dreadful  to  her 
to  have  to  pay  out  her  money  so  fast.  She  wanted  to 
stop  over  night  in  this  city,  but  the  expense — Salome 
must  go  on,  no  matter  how  weary  she  was.  They 
could  not  rest  until  they  reached  their  journey's  end. 
Somebody  up  at  home  had  known  somebody  else  who 
had  a  cousin  who  was  settled  near  St.  Augustine. 

It  was  upon  this  clew,  for  economy's  sake,  that  Mrs. 
Gerry  had  decided  upon  St.  Augustine. 


MISS    NUNALLY  89 

She  would  hire  a  room,  a  log-house,  anything,  and 
she  would  establish  herself  and  work,  no  matter  how 
hard,  while  Salome  should  benefit  by  the  climate. 
Florida  had  a  great  deal  of  climate;  there  was  always 
enough  of  that. 

Mrs.  Gerry  had  in  her  pocket  the  most  accurate  in 
structions  as  to  how  to  find  the  place  not  far  from  St. 
Augustine.  Now,  as  she  inquired  of  the  ticket  agent, 
she  almost  produced  these  instructions  that  she  might 
consult  with  him  about  them. 

But  something  held  her  back  from  doing  that. 

The  train  would  start  in  an  hour.  She  turned  to 
inform  her  daughter  of  the  fact.  Salome  was  sitting 
by  the  smouldering  fire  on  the  hearth.  The  girl  dared 
not  acknowledge  to  herself  how  weary  and  discour 
aged  she  was. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  fire  a  thin,  stooped  man 
sat  looking  dully  at  the  coals.  He  had  just  had  an 
attack  of  coughing  and  expectoration  which  had 
seemed  to  shake  his  frame  so  that  he  could  scarcely 
breathe.  Now  he  sat  there  panting  and  exhausted. 
He  was  alone.  A  large  valise,  with  a  cane  resting  on 
top  of  it,  was  near  him  on  the  floor. 

Salome  was  gazing  at  him  with  an  undefined  sensa 
tion  of  horror  and  premonition  in  her  heart.  Present 
ly  he  took  a  small  flask  from  the  pocket  of  his  over 
coat  and  drank  from  it.  Salome  detected  the  odor  of 
whiskey,  and  the  odor  sickened  her. 

The  girl  wanted  to  rise  and  walk  outside  in  the 
beautiful  sunshine,  but  the  sight  of  that  man  sitting 
there  so  obviously,  so  horribly,  in  the  grasp  of  con 
sumption,  held  her  fast. 

He  appeared  to  revive  slightly  after  his  draught  of 
whiskey. 


9O  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

He  looked  uneasily  at  the  clock.  What  a  dreadful 
thing  that  he  had  left  his  home  to  come  down  here 
hoping — but  did  he  hope?  Salome  shuddered.  She 
wished  that  she  had  not  seen  him. 

Among  the  people  coming  and  going  the  girl  was 
now  aware  of  some  one,  aware  without  the  aid  of 
sight.  But  she  turned  that  her  eyes  might  assist  her. 

Miss  Nunally  had  just  walked  up  to  the  ticket 
office.  She  walked  erect,  and  with  something  like  in 
solence  in  her  gait.  But  she  waited  respectfully  until 
Mrs.  Gerry  should  step  aside. 

Salome  rose  quickly.  She  approached  the  ticket 
window.  She  was  dominated  by  a  quick  corning 
desire  to  speak  to  that  other  girl,  and  by  a  fear  lest 
she  might  lose  sight  of  her. 

She  heard  her  ask  for  a  ticket  to  St.  Augustine, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  relief  in  the  hear 
ing. 

Miss  Nunally  moved  away  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  open  purse.  But  she  had  seen  Salome,  and  now 
glanced  at  her,  smiling. 

Salome  spoke  quickly. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you're  going  to  Augustine! 
Please  let  us  hang  on  to  your  skirts.  You  see, 
mother  and  I  never  went  away  from  home  before, 
and  we  think  the  most  dreadful  things  about  travel 
ling.  If  I  were  strong  I  shouldn't  mind  it.  Don't  tell 
me  I  have  been  too  bold,"  ending  her  speech  with  a 
shy  wistfulness. 

Salome  was  thinking  that  it  was  not  in  the  least 
like  her  to  have  spoken  in  that  way.  She  wondered 
that  she  had  done  so.  She  thought  it  might  have 
been  somebody  else.  And  yet  she  continued  to  look 
with  that  deprecating  pleading  at  the  girl  near  her. 


MISS    NUNALLY  91 

She  could  not  understand  why  Miss  Nunally  should 
have  for  her  both  an  attractive  and  repellent  power. 
At  this  moment  it  was  the  former  that  was  upper 
most. 

As  for  the  other  and  more  sophisticated  girl,  she 
was  interested  and  amused.  She  had  decided  that 
she  had  never  before  met  any  one  who  impressed  her 
as  being  shy  to  a  superlative  degree,  and  yet  who  was 
perfectly  self-possessed,  and  who  never  blushed. 

"Perhaps  I  can  make  her  blush,"  she  thought;  and 
then,  with  compunction,  "  but  she  is  ill,  and  that 
would  be  cruel." 

But  Miss  Nunally's  compunctions  never  lasted  long, 
if  they  stood  in  the  way  of  any  preference. 

"  So  far  from  thinking  you  are  too  bold,  I  am  posi 
tive  you  never  could  be  bold  at  all,"  she  answered. 
"  Yes,  by  all  means,  hang  on  to  my  skirts.  I've  been 
down  here  half  a  dozen  times.  Where  are  you  go 
ing?;' 

Miss  Nunally  sat  down  and  began  to  unpin  a  little 
veil  that  had  been  fastened  across  her  forehead.  Even 
with  gloves  upon  her  hands  she  was  successful  in  the 
first  attempt.  She  put  the  pin  between  her  lips  and 
looked  up  at  her  companion,  who  was  standing  before 
her. 

"I  told  you,  to  St.  Augustine." 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  expect  to  camp  out  in  the  Plaza 
there,  do  you  ?" 

Salome  put  her  hands  together.  It  was  a  gesture 
she  would  not  have  allowed  herself  if  she  had  not 
been  very  tired  and,  as  she  would  have  said,  "  nervous." 
She  always  intended  to  hold  her  corporeal  self  in 
quiet. 

"  The  Plaza  ?"  she   repeated.     "  I  did  read  some- 


Q2  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

thing  about  that.  We've  got  to  manage,  you  see, 
on  account  of  being  poor.  It's  a  great  deal  more 
hateful  to  manage  when  one  is  travelling  than  when 
one  is  at  home  ;  and  it  doesn't  seem  to  amount  to 
much,  either.  We  are  going  to  try  to  hire  a  room 
outside  the  city.  There's  some  one  up  at  home  who 
knew  some  one  who  has  a  cousin  here,  and  we  didn't 
know  but  it  might  be  cheaper.  Since  we  left  the 
North  our  whole  beings  have  been  absorbed  in  seeing 
what  was  the  cheapest  way  to  do  things.  Why,"  with 
a  slight  grimace,  "I've  hardly  had  a  chance  to  think 
whether  my  cough  is  better." 

And  now  she  coughed,  and  involuntarily  put  her 
hand  to  her  chest. 

Miss  Nunally's  face  changed  from  its  rather  cool 
curiosity  to  one  of  soft  sympathy. 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for  you,"  she  said  ; 
"  but  I  don't  know  anybody  outside  the  city,  and  only 
Northern  people  in  it,  and  I'm  going  to  the  Ponce." 

This  she  said  as  if  going  to  the  Ponce  precluded 
the  possibility  of  her  usefulness  towards  persons  who 
were  obliged  to  "manage." 

"  Besides,"  she  added,  unexpectedly,  "  I'm  poor  as 
a  mouse  myself." 

Salome  could  not  help  exclaiming  "Oh  !"  and 
glancing  at  Miss  Nunally's  gown  and  wrap  and  hat 
and  gloves.  The  glance  even  included  the  irre 
proachable  leather  satchel  she  had  placed  in  a  chair 
near  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other  girl  in  response  to  that  glance, 
"  I  know  I'm  ragged  out  very  well  now.  In  fact,  I 
will  have  decent  clothes  anyway— mamma  knows 
that  well  enough." 

Here  Miss  Nunally  laughed.     And  Salome   again 


MISS    NUNALLY  93 

felt  the  discordant  note,  but  not  so  keenly  as  she  had 
felt  it  the  first  time. 

"  I  couldn't  stay  at  the  Ponce  without  a  frock  or 
two,  of  course.  My  aunt  is  there ;  it  is  she  who  in 
vites  me,  and  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  she  pays 
the  bills.  There's  a  man  there  whom  she  wants  me 
to  meet." 

Salome  made  no  reply  to  this  remark.  But  she 
was  thinking  that  that  last  sentence  was  in  some  un- 
explainable  way  in  unison  with  Miss  Nunally's  laugh. 
She  sat  down  by  the  fire  in  that  chair  which  had  been 
occupied  by  the  consumptive  stranger.  Then,  recall 
ing  that  fact,  she  rose  quickly  and  began  walking  up 
and  down  near  Miss  Nunally.  Mrs.  Gerry  was  look 
ing  up  their  trunk,  filled  with  the  resolution  that  she 
would  not  relinquish  the  Jacksonville  check  until  she 
should  hold  in  her  other  hand  the  St.  Augustine  check. 
She  did  not  know  but  that  baggage-masters  might 
have  a  kind  of  legerdemain  at  their  command  by 
means  of  which  they  could  spirit  away  into  non-exist 
ence  any  piece  of  baggage  not  having  attached  to  it  a 
bit  of  numbered  brass. 

Miss  Nunally  gave  her  face  little  dabs  with  her 
handkerchief.  As  Salome  drew  near  her  again  she  said: 

"  I  rather  like  to  talk  to  you.  If  you  want  any  ad 
vice  I  can  give  it  to  you." 

"  About  what  ?"  eagerly. 

"  Of  course  about  the  only  thing  in  which  a  girl 
should  be  interested — a  man.  In  this  case  that  beau 
tiful  creature  who  gave  you  his  place  in  the  sleeper. 
I  warn  you  not  to  think  of  him  ;  he  is  fickle.  It  is 
impossible  for  a  handsome  man  not  to  be  fickle." 

To  herself  Miss  Nunally  was  saying.  "Some  time  I 
will  ask  that  girl  why  she  doesn't  blush." 


VI 

MR.    MAINE    "  FLAXING    ROUND  " 

MRS.  GERRY  felt  that  she  could  write  a  large  volume 
about  the  way  folks  lived  in  Florida.  And  then  the 
volume  would  not  tell  half.  Powers  of  human  ex 
pression  never  could  tell  half.  Shiftless  ! 

She  wrote  home  to  her  husband  that  the  Burgess 
family,  who  lived  at  the  foot  of  Beech  Hill,  were 
thrifty  in  comparison  with  the  people  down  there. 

This  was  a  strong  expression.  "  Up  home  "  a  per 
son  had  only  to  say,  "as  shiftless  as  a  Burgess,"  to 
express  all  that  could  be  expressed  concerning  that 
bugbear  of  a  New  England  mind. 

And  Mrs.  Gerry  would  also  have  liked  to  write  an 
other  volume  about  the  difficulty  in  finding  the  resi 
dence  of  Job  Maine,  for  that  was  the  name  of  the 
man  who  had  a  cousin  in  Massachusetts  who  had 
known  some  one  who  knew  that  the  Gerry's  were  go 
ing  to  Florida  and  "  had  got  to  manage." 

Salome  had  remained  in  the  railroad  station  at 
Augustine,  while  her  mother  fared  forth  in  quest  of 
knowledge  of  Job  Maine.  By  this  time  Salome  was 
in  such  a  state  of  nervousness  and  physical  fatigue 
that  she  was  "a  trial."  But  Mrs.  Gerry  would  not 
acknowledge  that  fact  even  in  her  own  mind. 

The  elder  woman  longed  to  go  to  a  hotel,  put  her 
daughter  in  a  comfortable  room,  and  when  she  was 


MR.  MAINE  "FLAKING  ROUND  95 

rested  go  on.  But  she  thought  of  that  mortgage 
to  Uncle  John,  and  of  that  solitary  man  who  was  in 
the  lonesome  farm-house  toiling  and  saving  for  them. 

So  she  made  Salome  lie  down  on  a  settee  in  the 
station.  The  girl  put  her  head  on  her  bag,  and  her 
mother  covered  her  with  her  own  old  blue  waterproof. 

As  Mrs.  Gerry  was  going  out  at  the  open  door  a 
woman  who  had  been  watching  the  two  and  whose 
eyes  were  red  and  swollen,  came  forward  and  asked, 
in  a  whisper, 

"  Consumptive,  ain't  she  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  stepped  quickly  out  before  she  replied, 

"  I  don't  think  she  is,  really  ;  but  we  were  afraid 
she  might  be." 

The  woman  followed  her.     She  nodded. 

"  Yes ;  that's  just  the  way.  Perhaps  she'll  be 
helped— but  my  boy — " 

Here  the  speaker  choked.  Mrs.  Gerry,  with  a 
suffocating  pain  which  was  mingled  with  indignation 
at  this  cruel  want  of  consideration,  said,  tremulously, 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,"  and  she  gently  touched  her 
companion  as  she  spoke. 

The  woman  now  put  her  shabbily  gloved  hands 
over  her  face. 

"  He  died  yesterday ;  I'm  taking  him  home.  I'm 
all  alone." 

In  the  shock  which  came  to  her  as  she  heard  these 
words,  Mrs.  Gerry  felt  as  if  she  could  not  stand. 

But  she  did  stand,  straight  and  strong. 

"  If  I  could  only  do  something  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  felt  as  if  I  must  speak  to  somebody,"  said  the 
other. 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Gerry,  "I  know.  But 
don't,  don't  tell  my  daughter,  will  you?" 


96  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

"  No,  indeed ;  of  course  not."  Then,  trying  to 
speak  cheerfully,  "  I  guess  she'll  get  better ;  I  'most 
know  she  will." 

She  turned  forlornly  away.  Mrs.  Gerry  hurried 
down  the  street. 

She  had  already  made  inquiries  of  the  ticket  agent 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  Mr.  Job  Maine.  But  the 
man  had  shaken  his  head  impatiently — "  never  heard 
of  him." 

Mrs.  Gerry  explained  that  she  believed  Mr.  Maine 
raised  "truck."  She  did  not  quite  know  what  truck 
was,  and  felt  that  it  was  absurd  in  any  one  to  raise  it; 
but  that  was  all  she  knew  of  Mr.  Maine,  that  and  the 
fact  that  he  lived  not  far  from  Augustine. 

Now,  thinking  the  matter  over  as  she  walked  along 
the  street,  she  decided  that  the  post-office  would  be 
the  place  to  go  —  of  course,  Job  Maine's  address 
was  here ;  this  would  be  the  nearest  town.  And  as 
she  walked  she  recalled  that  the  woman  who  knew 
the  cousin  of  Mr.  Maine  had  said  she  would  be  sure 
and  have  that  cousin  write ;  although  there  was  no 
doubt  but  that  he  could  be  found  easily  enough. 

It  seemed  to  be  perfectly  understood  by  the  person 
acquainted  with  Job's  cousin  that  Job  frequently  came 
to  Augustine,  presumably  with  his  truck. 

There  was  one  encouraging  fact  in  the  talk  which 
Mrs.  Gerry  had  heard  about  Mr.  Maine,  and  that  was 
that  he  had  come  to  Florida  a  great  many  years  ago 
on  account  of  his  health,  and  he  had  entirely  recov 
ered  from  the  affliction  of  the  lungs  which  had  threat 
ened  to  carry  him  off.  Having  recovered  he  did  not 
come  home.  It  was  rumored  that  he  had  openly 
declared  that  he  had  had  enough  of  New  England, 
that  he  never  wanted  to  see  another  Hake  of  snow  in 


MR.    MAINE    "  FLAKING    ROUND  97 

his  life.  And  he  had  married.  After  his  marriage  a 
silence  had  settled  down,  broken  only  by  the  rumor 
of  truck  raising. 

For  the  hundredth  time  since  her  journey  began 
Mrs.  Gerry  recalled  minutely  everything  she  had 
learned  about  Mr.  Maine,  and  she  was  obliged  to  own 
that  her  knowledge  was  extremely  meagre. 

She  hurried  on,  hardly  noticing  her  surroundings. 
She  saw  the  Barrier  Gate,  and  paused  for  an  instant 
in  her  walk,  her  pulses  stirring  with  the  attractive 
suggestiveness  which  the  first  sight  of  that  gate  al 
ways  causes.  Beyond  were  the  towers  of  the  old  fort. 
And  everything  was  modified  by  the  wonderful  sweet 
ness  of  the  sky  and  air. 

"  How  Salome  will  like  this  !"  softly  whispered  the 
woman  to  herself ;  "  and  she  will  get  well — she  must 
get  well !" 

Then  she  recalled  the  face  of  that  woman  who  had 
just  said  "  she  was  all  alone." 

Mrs.  Gerry  compressed  her  lips  and  turned  into  St. 
George  Street,  asking  her  way  to  the  post-office  ;  then 
hurried  on,  noticing  nothing  more,  only  dimly  con 
scious  in  her  preoccupation  of  a  strange  loveliness  of 
atmosphere  surrounding  her. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  thinking  of  nothing 
but  that  figure  which  was  lying  on  the  settee  in  the 
railway  station  ;  that  she  was  caring  for  nothing  but 
to  get  Salome  where  she  could  rest. 

It  could  hardly  be  expected  that  a  girl  who  looked 
as  Miss  Nunally  looked  and  who  dressed  as  she 
dressed  would  be  able  to  lend  a  helping  hand  in  a 
search  for  Job  Maine. 

She  had  bidden  Salome  a  somewhat  airy  good-bye; 
she  had  said  she  should  be  sure  and  look  her  up; 
7 


98  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

then  she  had  entered  her  aunt's  carriage,  which  was 
in  waiting  for  her,  and  Salome  had  despondently 
watched  the  horses  trot  sedately  away. 

At  that  moment  Salome  thought  she  cared  only  to 
find  a  place  in  which  to  lie  clown  ;  a  place  where  she 
could  lie  for  days  and  days,  and  not  smell  car 
smoke,  nor  see  a  boy  with  books  or  magazines  to  sell. 

Her  consciousness  at  this  moment  was  very  cir 
cumscribed. 

Mrs.  Gerry  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  post- 
office. 

As  the  mail  was  in  process  of  distribution  she  was 
obliged  to  wait  wearily.  She  diversified  this  waiting 
by  selecting  different  people  who  came  in  and  asking 
them  if  they  could  tell  her  where  Mr.  Job  Maine  lived. 

No,  they  had  never  heard  of  Mr.  Maine. 

The  crowd  increased ;  but  at  last,  when  the  little 
windows  were  opened,  she  thrust  herself  forward. 
She  hardly  dared  to  analyze  her  emotions  at  this 
time  for  fear  she  would  not  know  whether  she  were 
waking,  or  whether  she  were  engaged  in  a  nightmare 
pursuit  of  a  myth  which  she  had  chosen  to  name  Job 
Maine. 

The  attendant  at  the  window  repeated  the  name. 
He  turned  and  asked  somebody  a  question.  The  de 
cision  arrived  at  was  that  if  Job  Maine  ever  came 
there  it  was  at  such  rare  intervals  that  no  one  remem 
bered  him. 

Taking  pity  on  Mrs.  Gerry's  worn  and  harassed 
face,  the  clerk  examined  a  pile  of  letters.  There  was 
one  for  Mr.  Job  Maine.  It  was  from  Massachusetts. 
Mrs.  Gerry  felt  an  immediate  conviction  that  this  was 
the  missive  that  Job's  cousin  had  promised  to  write 
concerning  the  possible  arrival  of  the  Gerrys. 


MR.    MAINE    "  FLAXING    ROUND  99 

She  felt  hope  die  within  her.  There  might  be  a 
person  in  St.  Augustine  who  knew  of  that  man,  but 
how  could  she  find  that  person  ? 

In  desperation  she  asked  to  be  directed  to  a  cheap 
lodging-house.  She  must  go  somewhere.  Then  she 
went  forth  to  find  Mrs.  Marks,  on  Tolamato  Street.  It 
was  a  shabby  enough  house,  and  seemed  to  smell  of 
something  she  could  not  define,  and  which  made  her 
want  to  cry  with  a  sudden  rush  of  home  -  sickness ; 
and  the  rent  was  five  dollars  a  week. 

It  was  a  man  with  greasy  skin  and  Hebraic  nose, 
with  his  feet  thrust  half-way  into  carpet  slippers,  who 
showed  her  this  room,  and  who  assured  her  it  was  one 
of  the  best  locations  in  the  city,  and  that  she  was 
within  five  minutes  of  .everything. 

But  to  be  within  five  minutes  of  everything  was  not 
the  reason  for  her  coming  to  Florida.  She  said  she 
would  look  farther,  whereupon  the  man  came  down 
half  a  dollar  on  the  rent,  and  when  she  was  out  on 
the  street  he  had  taken  off  another  half-dollar,  and 
asserted  that  he  was  now  giving  her  the  rent,  and 
that  he  should  be  ruined. 

She  hurried  away,  now  convinced  that  she  should 
be  obliged  to  stay  an  indefinite  time  in  the  town  and 
spend  an  indefinite  amount  of  money  before  she  could 
find  Mr.  Maine,  if  she  ever  found  him. 

"  If  I  only  knew  somebody  here,"  she  whispered  to 
herself. 

The  glittering  carriages  rolled  by  her  ;  men  and 
women  on  horseback  cantered  softly  over  the  sand  of 
the  street — oh,  every  one  had  money  enough.  Why 
did  she  come  to  a  place  like  this  ?  And  there  was 
her  husband  at  home  denying  himself  that  she  and 
Salome  might  be  here. 


100  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

"Thunder!  Why  in  time  don't  ye  git,  if  ye  can 
git?" 

As  a  drawling,  strident  voice  called  this  out  directly 
behind  her,  Mrs.  Gerry  sprang  aside  and  pressed  up 
against  a  building. 

There  was  no  sidewalk,  and  the  queer  little  high 
way  seemed  at  that  instant  full  of  vehicles. 

Directly  behind  her  was  a  cart  drawn  by  a  mule, 
or,  rather,  it  was  fastened  to  a  mule,  which  was  not 
drawing  anything  now,  but  had  stopped  apparently 
from  its  own  volition.  This  animal  wore  a  few  pieces 
of  harness  and  a  few  fragments  of  rope,  which  seemed 
to  be  very  insecurely  tied  upon  him,  and  which  con 
nected  him  to  the  cart  behind  him  in  a  mysterious 
manner. 

The  cart  was  broken  at  the  side,  and  the  break  was 
mended  by  the  nailing  across  it  of  a  couple  of  barrel 
staves.  But  one  of  these  staves  had  pulled  away 
from  its  nails,  and  when  the  mule  moved  the  barrel 
stave  flopped  more  or  less,  in  accordance  with  the 
motion  of  its  propelling  power. 

The  bottom  of  the  cart  was  what  might  be  descrip 
tively  called  "open  work,"  for  there  appeared  to  be 
more  apertures  than  anything  else.  But  these  aper 
tures  were  now  concealed  by  some  old  cotton  bags 
tacked  across.  These  bags  were  there  temporarily, 
and  to  enable  a  few  cabbages  and  sweet-potatoes  to 
remain  in  the  vehicle  until  they  should  be  sold. 

The  driver  and  owner  of  this  turnout  was  sitting 
with  great  calmness  on  one  front  corner  of  the  cart, 
with  his  feet  braced  against  a  shaft. 

He  was  long  and  thin  and  yellow.  He  had  a  beard 
which  was  also  long,  and  so  thin  that  it  allowed  the 
contour  of  his  chin  and  cheeks  to  be  plainly  seen. 


MR.    MAINE    "FLAKING    ROUND'7  IOI 

I  have  no  wish  to  keep  a  reader  in  suspense,  and  I 
will  state  immediately  that  this  person  was  Job  Maine, 
and  that  he  believed  himself  to  be  now  engaged  in 
selling  truck. 

But  Mrs.  Gerry  did  not  know  that  it  was  Mr.  Maine. 
She  believed  she  was  looking  at  a  specimen  of  a 
cracker.  How  could  she  by  any  means  guess  that 
this  was  a  man  New  England  born  and  bred  ? 

Mr.  Maine,  however,  had  not  forgotten  the  appear 
ance  of  those  people  among  whom  he  had  grown  up. 
He  did  not  ask  his  mule  to  go  on  immediately.  There 
was  always  time  enough. 

He  leaned  on  his  elbow  and  gazed  down  at  Mrs. 
Gerry,  who  was  only  a  few  feet  from  him. 

Perhaps  some  unaccustomed  pulse  was  awakening 
in  his  heart,  but  this  organ  was  so  unused  to  such 
pulses  that  his  face  had  long  ago  forgotten  how  to  re 
veal  anything  of  them. 

This  face  might  have  been  a  piece  of  leather,  so  far 
as  any  expression  was  concerned. 

And  yet  the  owner  of  that  countenance  was  cu 
rious. 

"  I  ruther  guess  I  c'n  hold  in  my  mule  for  a  minute 
or  so,"  remarked  Mr.  Maine,  not  glancing  at  the  ani 
mal,  whose  whole  attitude  might  have  been  taken  for 
an  illustration  of  the  verb  "  to  droop." 

"  I  c'n  'most  always  hold  him  in,"  he  added,  ex 
planatorily,  as  if  his  assertion  might  be  doubted. 

When  this  gentleman  had  said  "  I  ruther  guess," 
there  had  come  to  Mrs.  Gerry  a  quick  feeling,  as  of 
recognition,  not  of  the  individual  in  the  least,  but  of 
the  Yankee  in  a  generic  sense.  Still,  of  course,  this 
must  be  a  cracker. 

"Jest   arrove,   I    cal'clate  ?"    inquired    Mr.  Maine. 


102  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

"  But  the  season  ain't  to  its  height  till  after  Christ 
mas.  Still,  they're  droppin'  in.  Consumption  ?" 

"  I'm  well,"  answered  Mrs.  Gerry,  not  knowing  why 
she  lingered. 

"  You  don't  look  consumptive  'n'  you  don't  look 
like  one  of  them  that  has  money  rottin'  'n'  has  come 
South  to  git  rid  of  it." 

Mr.  Maine  apparently  had  the  whole  day  in  which 
to  sit  there  and  converse,  and  his  interest  in  a  Yan 
kee,  dull  as  was  that  interest,  was  something  like  ex 
citement  to  him.  He  saw  great  numbers  of  Northern 
people  every  year,  but  he  rarely  saw  this  kind  of  a 
Northern  person. 

He  rolled  something  that  was  in  his  mouth  from 
one  side  of  his  face  to  the  other.  He  passed  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  his  dry,  pale  lips. 

Mrs.  Gerry  now  made  the  assertion  that  she  had  no 
money  rotting.  She  made  a  step  forward,  and  said 
also  that  she  had  no  time  to  spare. 

"  Don't  rush  round  so,"  said  Mr.  Maine.  "  There's 
all  the  time  thur  is,  ain't  they  ?  Did  ye  jest  come  in  ?" 

"  Yes.  And  I've  got  to  find  a  lodging,  a  cheap 
lodging.  Is  there  any  such  thing  here  ?" 

The  man  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"  There  ain't  nothin'  cheap  in  Augustine  in  this 
season,"  he  replied.  "  You're  barkin'  up  the  wrong 
tree — 'less  you  want  a  cabbage.  I'll  let  ye  have  one 
er  them  cheap." 

Mrs.  Gerry  had  never  in  her  life  felt  such  a  frantic 
sense  of  inability  and  incompetence.  She  wanted  to 
wring  her  hands  and  cry  out. 

But  instead  of  doing  that  she  hardened  her  figure 
and  her  face  as  she  remarked,  coldly,  that  she  didn't 
need  a  cabbage  at  present. 


MR.  MAINE  "FLAKING  ROUND"  103 

Then  she  began  to  walk  on.  Mr.  Maine  reached 
forth  one  foot  and  applied  it  to  the  rear  of  his  mule. 

The  animal  shuddered  ;  but  he  did  nothing  else. 

"  There  ain't  no  hurry,"  Mr.  Maine  called  out.  "  I 
tell  ye  you've  got  all  the  time  they  is.  Can't  ye  be  a 
darned  bit  congenial  with  another  Yankee  ?" 

When  she  heard  that  last  word  Mrs.  Gerry  stopped 
instantly.  She  turned  back  close  to  the  cart. 

"  'Stonishing,"  said  Mr.  Maine,  "  how  hard  they 
take  everything.  Seems  if  they  wished  life  was  one 
everlasting  tooth -pullin'  V  they  bracin'  up  aginst 
it." 

"  Are  you  a  Yankee  ?"  the  woman  asked,  quickly, 
with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

"  Certain.  And  I  bet  you  come  from  Massa 
chusetts." 

Yes,  Job  Maine  was  conscious  of  a  something  that 
seemed  like  interest.  He  hardly  knew  what  to  make 
of  it.  He  didn't  know  as  he  wanted  to  be  interested. 
It  was  quite  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  be  interested, 
and  it  took  considerable  out  of  a  man,  somehow. 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  not  only  surprised,  she  was  becom 
ing  excited. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  She  went  on,  rapidly,  "  I 
did  come  from  Massachusetts.  I've  brought  a  daugh 
ter  down  here.  She  isn't  well.  I'm  trying  to  find  out 
where  Job  Maine  lives.  But  I'm  about  discouraged." 

With  an  involuntary  movement,  of  which  he  was 
not  conscious,  Mr.  Maine  again  reached  out  his  foot 
and  applied  it  to  the  mule,  who  again  shuddered,  but 
did  not  go  on. 

The  man's  leather  face  underwent  some  kind  of  a 
contortion. 

"  'Tain't  no  time  for  ye  to  be  discouraged,"  he  re- 


104  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

marked.  "  If  you  c'n  only  stop  your  hurry  I'd  like  to 
say  sumpthin'  to  ye.  But  a  man  can't  talk  if  he's 
hurried  to  death.  He  can't  collect  himself,  some 
way." 

Mrs.  Gerry  tried  to  remain  quiet  while  her  com 
panion  should  collect  himself,  but  she  could  not  re 
frain  from  hoping  that  the  process  would  not  be 
long. 

She  waited  for  several  minutes  while  Mr.  Maine 
continued  to  gaze  at  her. 

"  Well  ?"  she  said  at  last. 

Job  was  leaning  forward,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees. 

"  I  do  'low,"  he  now  began,  "  that  you  kinder 
faviour  old  Lef'tant  Bourne  't  I  used  to  see  when  I 
was  a  boy.  Yes,  I  certain  sure  do  see  the  Bourne 
look." 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  so  weary  and  so  anxious  that  she 
feared  she  might  become  hysterical.  And  there  was 
a  confusing  air  of  unreality  about  this  interview. 

"  Elbridge  Bourne  was  my  father,"  she  said.  "  Who 
are  you  ?" 

Mr.  Maine  bent  his  head  over  the  side  of  the  cart, 
opened  his  mouth,  and  allowed  his  huge  quid  of  to 
bacco  to  drop  into  the  sand ;  at  the  same  moment  his 
hand  was  thrust  into  the  pocket  of  his  trousers  in 
search  of  the  remnant  of  unchewed  "  plug  "  that  he 
hoped  was  there. 

"  I'm  Job  Maine,"  he  answ-ered.  "  That's  about  the 
size  of  me,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Gerry  walked  up  to  the  house  near  her  and 
leaned  against  its  wall. 

She  felt  ill  and  weak.  She  had  not  guessed  this. 
She  thought  her  last  hope  was  removed.  She  had  a 


MR.  MAINE  "FLAXING  ROUND"  105 

sickening  pity  and  contempt  for  that  man  in  the  mule- 
cart. 

But   Mr.  Maine   became  what   for  him  misfht   be 

O 

called  cheerful. 

"  I'm  exactly  the  'possum  you're  after,"  he  said, 
"  V  here  I  be.  'N'  I  ain't  the  feller  ter  let  a  ole 
neighbor  slip.  You  come  down  onter  the  Plaza  in  an 
hour  or  two,  or  some  time  ter  day,  'n'  wait  'n'  I'll  pick 
ye  up  'n'  I'll  take  ye  out  to  where  I  live.  There's 
two  houses  on  my  place.  I'll  let  one  of  um  on  the 
easiest  kind  of  terms.  'N'  I'll  throw  in  the  climate. 
There's  jest  as  much  climate  out  there  's  there  is  here 
to  the  Ponce,  exactly.  Sometimes  I  think  there's 
more.  'N'  there's  the  ocean.  'N'  ozone.  One  of  these 
hotel  fellers  was  talkin'  'bout  ozone  the  other  day. 
We've  got  that,  lots  of  it.  We've—" 

His  drawl  appeared  to  be  going  to  continue  inter 
minably.  And  as  his  voice  droned  on  Mrs.  Gerry 
made  up  her  mind. 

She  would  hire  his  house.  Whatever  it  was,  she 
would  hire  it.  She  already  began  to  picture  to  her 
self  how  cosily  and  cheaply  she  and  her  daughter 
could  live. 

"  I'll  take  your  house,"  she  said,  breaking  in  upon 
his  words.  "  Can  we  ride  out  with  you?" 

"  That's  what  I've  ben  sayin'." 

"  And  when  shall  we  be  on  the  Plaza  ? — you  mean 
that  little  park  ?" 

Mr.  Maine  nodded. 

"  Some  time  ter  day,"  he  answered. 

"  Some  time  to-day  ?  But  tell  me  something  more 
definite  than  that." 

"  Can't.  Ain't  you  ruther  pertic'lar  ?  I've  got  to  sell 
my  truck.  I've  got  ter  flax  round  for  the  ole  'oman. 


106  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

You  'n'  the  gal  be  there  ter  day,  ye  know.  Lor',  if  you 
ain't  there  when  I  bring  round  I  c'n  wait.  If  we  ain't 
got  all  the  time  they  is,  I  sh'd  like  to  know  who  has 
got  it  ?  That's  what  I  say." 

He  put  his  foot  against  his  mule  again ;  and  he 
now  repeated  this  movement  until  that  creature  started 
into  a  walk  and  at  last  disappeared. 

Mrs.  Gerry  went  back  quickly  to  the  station.  She 
was  elated.  She  kept  saying  to  herself  that  if  they 
had  a  house  of  their  own  they  should  be  dependent 
upon  nobody. 

An  hour  later  the  two  women  were  sitting  on  the 
Plaza. 

With  a  well-considered  disregard  of  the  expense, 
they  had  been  to  a  restaurant  and  partaken  of  an  ex 
cellent  meal.  And  this  meal  had  had  its  effect  upon 
body  and  spirit. 

Salome  sat  on  the  little  iron  bench  with  her  hands 
folded  upon  her  lap.  Her  mother  was  beside  her. 
The  girl's  face  was  haggard  with  fatigue,  but  as  she 
sat  there  it  seemed  to  become  in  a  measure  trans 
figured.  It  was  still  worn  and  thin  and  pale,  however. 
The  sunlight  fell  full  upon  her;  a  faint  breeze  came 
from  inland.  In  this  breeze  was  a  certain  penetrating 
softness  that  entered  into  Salome's  blood.  It  was 
not  like  anything  she  had  ever  known  before.  It 
appealed  to  something  in  her  which,  she  thought, 
wakened  for  the  first  time  to  respond  to  it. 

Even  in  this  first  day  she  was  conscious  of  a  mys 
terious  relaxation  of  nerve  and  spirit.  But  she  was 
very  weary.  She  did  not  want  to  look  at  the  people 
who  were  continually  sauntering  here  and  there,  and 
talking  and  laughing,  and  not  seeming  to  notice  this 
wonderful  air. 


MR.  MAINE  "FLAXING  ROUND"  107 

Sometimes  a  dog  would  come  up  in  a  friendly  man 
ner  to  the  two  strangers,  nose  about  them,  then  trot 
off  again.  There  were  a  great  many  dogs ;  sleek, 
well-kept  creatures,  who  evidently  had  not  come  South 
under  any  necessity  to  "manage." 

Often  Salome  would  throw  back  her  head  that  she 
might  the  better  inhale  a  long  breath.  Often  her 
mother  would  look  at  her.  Once  she  asked  : 

"  Are  you  resting,  dear  ?" 

And  the  girl  met  her  mother's  glance,  smiled,  and 
responded  in  an  ardent  voice, 

"  Oh  yes,  yes." 

So  they  sat  on,  mostly  in  silence. 

After  an  hour  the  two  rose  and  walked  down  to  the 
sea-wall.  They  looked  over  at  Anastasia  Island. 
They  gazed  at  their  left  upon  the  gray  fort. 

Salome  suddenly  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  laugh 
ing  slightly  as  she  did  so. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  anything  to-day,"  she  said ; 
"  I  only  want  to  sit  still  and  let  this  air  and  this  sun 
shine  have  their  way  with  me.  Let  us  go  back  to  the 
Plaza.  How  delicious  to  be  where  there  is  a  Plaza ! 
And  I  like  to  look  at  the  Spanish  inscription  on  that 
monument." 

So  they  sat  down  again,  and  the  number  of  people 
increased  as  the  afternoon  wore  on  ;  and  more  dogs 
came  and  welcomed  them  to  the  South.  The  odor 
from  some  rose  gardens  behind  tall  fences  became 
more  and  more  perceptible.  The  sky  deepened  in 
color.  The  date-palm  in  that  yard  stood  out  with 
even  a  greater  distinctness. 

Mrs.  Gerry  began  to  be  uneasy.  She  was  con 
tinually  looking  out  upon  the  streets  surrounding  the 
park,  hoping  to  see  Job  Maine's  equipage. 


108  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

It  was  in  vain  that  she  tried  to  comfort  herself  by 
thinking  that  they  had  all  the  time  there  was. 

Salome  did  not  seem  uneasy.  When  at  last  the 
sun  was  casting  longer  shadows,  the  girl  pulled  a 
thicker  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  and  continued  to 
wait  placidly.  Indeed,  just  then  Salome  was  hardly 
aware  that  she  was  waiting.  Afterwards  she  used  to 
think  that  some  other  soul  entered  her  body  on  that 
first  afternoon  when  she  sat  in  the  Plaza  so  calmly, 
not  knowing  then  about  this  other  soul  with  which 
she  would  have  to  deal. 

Fanciful,  was  she  ?  Yes  ;  but  then  fancies  are  some 
times  more  true  and  more  powerful  than  facts  which 
may  be  accurately  demonstrated. 

Mrs.  Gerry  rose  and  walked  to  the  railing  of  the 
park.  She  must  see  Job  Maine  somewhere.  She 
wished  that  she  knew  which  way  to  go  in  search  of 
him.  And  when  she  did  see  him  she  must  find  out 
what  he  would  charge  for  rent.  It  was  an  oversight 
unworthy  of  a  Yankee  to  engage  a  house  without 
knowing  the  expense  of  it. 

And  she  did  not  wish  Salome  to  be  out  in  the  night 
air.  As  she  walked  restlessly  around  the  park  she 
glanced  back  at  her  daughter.  The  girl  was  stooping 
forward  to  pat  the  head  of  an  Irish  setter  who  had 
paused  by  her  side.  The  slanting  sunlight  was  upon 
her.  The  mother  suppressed  a  tremor  as  she  noted 
the  transparent  pallor  of  the  face.  But  it  was  a  happy 
face,  a  strangely  happy  face  just  now.  Mrs.  Gerry  did 
not  understand.  Her  own  mind  was  so  full  of  anxie 
ties.  But  she  was  grateful.  Suddenly  she  thought : 

"  It  is  because  we  have  come  to  Florida.  Well, 
the  air  is  lovely.  But  I  cannot  rest  until  we  can  get 
settled." 


MR.    MAINE    "  FLAXING    ROUND"'  IOQ 

And  again  she  tried  to  see  Mr.  Maine's  turnout 
among  the  carriages  that  were  coining  down  King 
Street,  or  turning  out  towards  the  barracks.  Every 
body  was  gay  ;  everybody  was  happy. 

The  military  band  struck  up  its  inspiring  music. 
A  horse  bearing  a  woman  on  its  back,  directly  oppo 
site  Mrs.  Gerry,  began  to  curvet  by  the  side  of  an 
open  carriage. 

Mrs.  Gerry  looked  with  some  bitterness  at  the 
rider,  and  to  her  great  surprise  the  rider  bowed.  It 
was  Miss  Nunally.  She  turned  the  horse's  head  and 
rode  nearer. 

"  Beautiful,  isn't  it  ?"  exclaimed  the  girl,  joyously. 

She  was  looking  charming,  and  she  knew  it. 

"  Very  beautiful,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Portia  !"  called  a  lady  from  the  carriage. 

Portia  waved  her  hand  at  her  aunt ;  but  she  did 
not  obey  until  she  chose.  She  never  did  obey  any 
one  until  she  chose. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Gerry  ?  I  hope  you're  nicely 
settled.  I  shall  look  you  up.  Good-bye." 

And  she  cantered  off. 

The  bitterness  upon  the  face  of  the  woman  deepened 
as  she  watched.  The  next  moment  she  became  aware 
that  Miss  Nunally's  horse,  in  its  gayety  of  spirits,  was 
near  colliding  with  a  mule  that  was  coming  round 
from  the  other  side  of  the  old  market. 

The  driver  of  the  mule  was  at  that  particular  time 
engaged  in  reaching  forth  his  foot  and  applying  it  to 
his  steed — with  no  effect.  But  plainly  no  effect  was 
expected. 

The  animal  continued  to  walk  at  the  slowest  pace 
at  which  one  foot  may  be  placed  before  another.  He 
seemed  to  experience  a  difficulty  in  lifting  his  feet 


110  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

from  the  ground,  as  if  the  earth  were  a  strong  magnet 
which  held  his  hoofs  down. 

But  time  accomplishes  many  things,  and  time 
brought  Mr.  Job  Maine  at  length  opposite  the  woman 
who  was  waiting  for  him. 

When  he  saw  her  he  immediately  stopped  his  mule 
and  leaned  forward  to  support  himself  with  his  elbows 
on  his  knees. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  sun  dropped  down  below 
the  horizon.  There  was  the  sound  of  the  sunset  gun. 
The  date-palm  was  magnified  against  the  red  sky. 
The  military  band  began  to  play  in  its  softest  manner, 
"Non  ti  scordar  di  me." 

"Be  ye  'bout  ready?"  asked  Mr.  Maine.  "I  'low 
I'm  a  mighty  ways  toward  bein'  busted,  I've  flaxed 
round  so." 

He  reflectively  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  over  his 
mouth.  Whether  for  the  purpose  of  cleaning  his 
mouth  or  his  hand  it  was  impossible  to  say,  for  both 
seemed  equally  in  need  of  some  kind  of  a  cleansing 
process. 

With  the  going  down  of  the  sun  Mrs.  Gerry's  ebb 
ing  spirits  had  sunk  to  a  very  low  state. 

"Yes,  I'm  ready,"  she  said,  "but  our  trunk  must  be 
taken ;  and  it's  night  now ;  and  I  don't  know  as 
Salome  ought  to  be  out.  I  don't  know  what  to  do," 
despairingly. 

But  Mr.  Maine  was  not  in  the  least  despairing. 

"  Now  I've  ben  'n'  got  some  boards  put  in  the 
bottom  of  this  thunderin'  cart,  over  them  holes,  I 
reckon  I'm  goin'  to  have  them  boards  used.  You'll 
git  in,  that's  what  you'll  do.  And  the  gal — where  is 
the  gal  ?  I  ain't  goin'  to  flax  round  's  I've  ben  doin' 
sence  I  seen  you,  Mis'  Gerry,  for  nothin'.  Git  in. 


MR.    MAINE    "  FLAXING    ROUND  III 

But  there  ain't  no  hurry.  We've  got  all  the  time 
they  is." 

"  But  the  trunk — " 

"A  man  'd  think  you  hadn't  no  confidence  in  him," 
remarked  Mr.  Maine.  "  I'm  reckonin'  on  gittin'  that 
trunk  right  soon." 

"To-night?" 

"  Naw  ;  course  not  ter  night." 

"  But  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  You'll  stay  with  me  'n'  my  ole  'oman.  Don't  you 
count  on  our  havin'  no  horspitality  into  us?  And 
ain't  ye  ever  heard  nothin'  of  Southern  horspitality? 
That's  what  gwine  to  happen  to  you  now — its  Southern 
horspitality." 

Sometimes  this  gentleman  said  "goin',"  and  at 
other  times  he  said  "  gwine." 

Mrs.  Gerry  tried  to  discover  by  Mr.  Maine's  face 
whether  he  was  now  indulging  in  sarcasm.  But  she 
might  as  well  have  endeavored  to  read  some  human 
expression  upon  a  well-baked  potato. 

"  Is  the  gal  fur  ?"  he  now  inquired. 

"  What  ?" 

"  Is  the  gal  fur  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  turned  away.  She  had  resolved  to  go 
with  him. 

She  said  that  her  daughter  was  sitting  right  here 
on  the  Plaza.  She  would  bring  her.  She  would  be 
gone  but  a  few  moments.  As  she  walked  away  she 
heard  Mr.  Maine  remarking,  as  if  he  were  saying  the 
words  casually  to  himself,  that  they  "  had  all  the  time 
they  is." 

Presently  the  two  women  appeared.  Salome  had 
not  been  informed  of  any  particulars  in  regard  to  Mr. 
Maine.  She  only  knew  that  her  mother  had  met  him 


112  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

in  what  seemed  a  Providential  way,  and  that  a  house 
had  been  engaged.  To  both  these  strangers  a  house 
meant  a  house,  even  though  it  might  be  an  extremely 
humble  structure.  They  rested  upon  that  thought. 

Salome  came  serenely  on  beside  her  mother. 

When  she  saw  Mr.  Maine  she  involuntarily  said 
"  Oh  !"  below  her  breath,  and  paused  for  an  instant  in 
her  walk. 

But  she  came  forward  as  her  mother  explained  to 
the  person  in  the  cart  that  this  was  "  the  gal."  She 
held  out  her  hand.  Mr.  Maine  placed  his  hand  with 
such  looseness  on  her  palm  that  it  directly  dropped  out. 

He  said  they  might  climb  in  if  "  they  had  a  mine 
ter,"  which  they  proceeded  to  do,  he  sitting  in  his 
chosen  position  on  a  corner  of  the  cart  and  watching 
them,  but  without  any  show  of  interest  in  the  pro 
ceedings. 

Once  he  remarked,  what  was  self-evident,  that  there 
wa'n't  no  seats,  and  he  added  that  he  had  flaxed 
round  and  got  some  boards  laid  over  the  thunderin' 
holes. 

It  was  a  work  of  some  difficulty  to  mount  over  the 
edge  of  the  cart,  but  the  feat  was  accomplished  at 
last.  The  mule  was  kicked  into  a  walk,  and  the 
equipage  started  out  by  the  barracks.  The  band  was 
still  playing  on  the  green  opposite. 

Carriages  were  standing  there  that  their  occupants 
might  hear  the  music.  Horseback  riders  were  sitting 
here  and  there.  Out  in  the  Matanzas  a  few  yachts 
were  coming  slowly  in,  their  sails  beginning  to  flap  as 
the  day  breeze  died  away. 

Beyond  the  island  there  was  the  sound  of  waves 
breaking  on  the  long  beach.  But,  more  enchanting 
than  all,  there  was  the  Florida  air,  which  smelled  of 


MR.    MAINE    "  FLAXING    ROUND"  113 

the  sea  and  of  pine-trees  and  of  roses — which,  in 
short,  came  straight  from  the  plains  of  Paradise. 

Salome  did  not  care  if  she  were  sitting  on  the 
bottom  of  that  cart.  She  cared  only  for  one  thing, 
and  for  that  she  cared  with  all  her  heart :  that  she 
was  in  Florida. 

She  grasped  her  mother's  hand.  She  did  not  look 
at  all  like  a  Puritan  maiden. 

"  '  'Tis  the  clime  of  the  South — '  "  she  whispered. 

But  before  she  could  finish  her  quotation  she  hap 
pened  to  see  a  man  on  horseback  lifting  his  hat  to  a 
girl  on  horseback. 

And  the  red  light  from  the  west  showed  that  the 
man  was  that  young  Moore,  and  the  girl  was  Miss 
Nunally. 


VII 

AN   AMANUENSIS 

"WHAT  I  really  need,  you  know,  is  an  amanuensis. 
I  always  thought  I  should  do  better  if  I  dictated." 

Miss  Nunally,  to  whom  this  remark  was  addressed, 
turned  from  the  mirror  where  she  was  standing;  but 
she  only  turned  a  very  little,  and  still  remained  where 
she  could  obliquely  see  herself  in  the  glass. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "why  don't  you  get  one,  then  ?" 

Miss  Nunally's  aunt,  Mrs.  Darrah,  leaned  back  with 
an  impatient  movement  among  the  cushions  of  her 
divan. 

"Get  one?"  she  repeated.  "Portia,  you  are  cer 
tainly  a  very  trying  person.  One  would  think  that  in 
your  position  you  would  offer  to  write  at  my  dicta 
tion." 

The  girl  faced  round  rather  unexpectedly. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  my  position  ?"  she  asked, 
with  the  utmost  haughtiness. 

"Mean?  why,  I  mean  that  you  are — why,"  shrink 
ing  a  little  from  wounding  her  niece,  "  that  you  are 
my  guest,  and  that  you  ought — " 

"  You  needn't  go  on,  Aunt  Florence,"  interrupted 
Portia,  still  more  haughtily.  "  I  understand  you  well 
enough.  You  mean  that  I  am  a  poor  wretch,  and 
that  I  ought  to  creep  and  crawl  so  that  I  may  keep 
you  good-natured." 


AN   AMANUENSIS  115 

Miss  Nunally  turned  back  to  the  mirror,  and  care 
fully  selected  a  red  rose  from  a  bowl  and  held  it  up 
to  the  side  of  her  face.  She  was  trying  to  demon 
strate  that  blond  women  may  successfully  wear  red 
roses.  Her  upper  lip  lifted  in  a  slight  smile  as  she 
saw  the  effect,  and  she  decided  that  she  would  wear 
an  enormous  bunch  of  red  roses  at  her  belt  that  night 
at  dinner.  Then  she  smiled  again,  and  her  little 
teeth,  which  were  more  than  half  gold,  seemed  to 
have  a  malicious  gleam  to  them. 

"  As  for  my  writing  to  your  dictation,"  she  went  on, 
easily,  "  you  know  there  isn't  a  printer  in  America 
who  could  read  what  I  should  write.  I  can't  read  it 
myself.  I  write  the  English  hand." 

She  laughed. 

Mrs.  Darrah,  a  small  woman  with  a  doll-like  face, 
and  hair  brushed  up  in  a  high  roll  from  her  forehead, 
somewhat  nervously  arranged  the  shawl  about  her 
shoulders. 

"  It's  all  a  notion,  your  writing  that  horrid  hand," 
she  said.  "  You  know  it  took  you  a  long  time  to  ac 
quire  it." 

"  I  know  it  did.  And  now  I  hope  you  don't  think  I'm 
going  to  give  it  up  and  write  for  a  printer.  Besides, 
I  haven't  any  vocation  towards  labor  of  any  kind." 

"  You're  an  awfully  trying  girl,  Portia  !"  wearily. 

"  Oh,  I  know  that,"  from  the  person  at  the  mirror. 
"  But  you  knew  all  about  me  before  you  sent  for  me 
to  come  to  Florida." 

"  But  I  have  forgotten  that  you —  Portia !"  with 
uncontrollable  irritation,  "won't  you  stop  twiddling 
those  roses  and  listen  to  me  one  moment  ?" 

Miss  Nunally  walked  away  from  the  mirror  and  sat 
down  in  front  of  her  aunt. 


Il6  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

"You  dear  old  authoress,"  she  exclaimed,  "how  am 
I  going  to  help  being  what  I  am  ?  You  know  you 
don't  believe  that  people  can  change.  Don't  you  re 
member  in  your  last  novel  you  distinctly  say  that  no 
one  ever  repents  ? — that  everybody  remains  essential 
ly  the  same  all  their  lives  ?" 

At  mention  of  her  last  novel  Mrs.  Darrah's  face 
became  more  amiable.  She  loved  her  novels  as  some 
mothers  loved  their  children.  If  other  people  did  not 
love  them,  in  the  secret  recesses  of  her  heart  Mrs. 
Darrah  knew  that  it  was  for  the  lack  of  good  taste, 
and  she  pitied  those  people. 

She  smiled  involuntarily. 

"  Yes,  I  did  say  so  ;  but  I  was  following  out  a  cer 
tain  theory.  I'm  not  sure  I  think  like  that." 

"  Oh,  but  I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Por 
tia,  now  coming  over  to  the  divan  and  adjusting  one 
of  the  cushions,  "and  I  was  so  glad.  It's  such  a 
comfortable  way  to  believe.  You  are  just  what  you 
are,  and  you  needn't  take  the  trouble  to  be  anything 
different,  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  I  agree  with  your 
last  novel,  Aunt  Florence.  Now,  please  don't  go  and 
upset  all  that,  will  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Darrah  looked  in  a  pleased  way  at  the  girl, 
whose  air  was  now  anything  but  irritating. 

"  But  I'm  thinking  of  illustrating  the  other  side  of 
the  question,"  she  said.  "  I— 

Portia  made  a  quick  movement. 

"  Pardon  me,  Aunt  Florence,  but  do  you  really  want 
an  amanuensis  ?" 

"  Certainly.     I  find  that  my  idea — " 

"  Oh,  do  pardon  me,  but  I  know  precisely  the  per 
son." 
, "  But  couldn't  you,  Portia?     You  know  I'm  used 


AN    AMANUENSIS  117 

to  you.  A  strange  presence  might  interrupt  the  flow 
of— " 

"  But  this  one  wouldn't — not  a  bit.  She's  just  made 
to  order,  and  she  wants  to  earn  money  ;  and  you  know, 
aunt,  that  I  can't  be  confined  to  any  fixed  hours.  I 
should  be  wretched ;  and  you  know  " — here  Portia 
unpinned  one  of  the  red  roses  from  her  corsage  and 
smelled  at  it  daintily — "  you  expect  me  to  be  pleasing 
in  the  sight  of  men,  so  that  I  may  make  a  good  mar 
riage.  I  can't  work  and  I  can't  beg,  and  I  must  have 
money ;  and  that's  why  you  invited  me  down  here, 
you  dear  thing,  you,  so  that  I  might  have  my  innings, 
you  know." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  put  anything  so  broadly  as  that !" 
remonstrated  Mrs.  Darrah. 

"  Broadly  !"  repeated  Portia,  indignantly.  "  You 
know  I  never  put  anything  broadly  in  my  life." 

"  We  won't  discuss  that  " — from  the  divan.  "  Your 
father  and  mother  want  you  married.  They  say  they 
shouldn't  rest  in  their  graves  if  you  were  not  married. 
They  never  know  exactly  what  you  are  going  to  do — 
only  that  it  will  be  something  that  they  would  wish 
you  wouldn't  do.  Certainly,  Portia  Nunally,  you  are 
the  kind  of  girl  who  ought  to  marry.  And  Heaven 
have  mercy  on  your  husband  !" 

"  Amen  !  for  I  wouldn't  have  any  mercy.  If  you 
could  not  deceive  men  so  easily  I  should  have  more 
respect  for  them.  It's  hardly  any  fun  setting  traps 
for  creatures  who  fall  into  them  so  quickly." 

"  I  won't  dispute  with  you,"  responded  Mrs.  Dar 
rah.  "  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  men  ;  I  want  to 
talk  about  my  amanuensis.  Where  is  she  ?" 

"  Out  somewhere  beyond  the  Maria  Sanchez.  Some 
where  where  they  raise  truck ;  somewhere  where  they 


Il8  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

eat  cabbage  all  the  time.  She  said,  the  last  time  I 
saw  her,  that  if  she  died  in  Florida,  it  would  not  be 
phthisis  which  killed  her,  but  it  would  be  cabbage." 

Mrs.  Darrah  shuddered. 

"But  there  isn't  any  nourishment,  to  speak  of,  in 
that  vegetable.  I  mean  to  write — 

"  So  I  told  her — about  the  lack  of  nourishment,  you 
know — and  she  said  she  was  a  living  demonstration 
to  the  contrary.  She  does  look  better." 

"  What  is  her  name  ?" 

"  Salome  Gerry." 

"  Where  do  you  see  her  ?" 

"  On  the  Plaza — two  or  three  times.  She  comes  in 
to  sit  there.  Fancy!  She  says  she  makes  believe  she 
is  over  in  Spain  somewhere." 

"  Does  she  know  anything  ?" 

"Know  anything?"  Miss  Nunally  laughed,  and 
then  added,  "She  comes  from  Massachusetts." 

"Go  and  bring  her  to  me." 

"  This  moment  ?" 

"  Of  course.  I  don't  know  where  the  Maria  Sauchey 
is  ;  but  you  take  William  to  drive,  and— 

"No;  I  will  ride  ;  and  I  don't  want  anybody  with 
me.  I  have  an  idea  where  she  lives,  and  I've  been 
meaning  to  go." 

Miss  Nunally  put  her  finger  on  the  button  of  the 
bell ;  and  when  her  call  was  answered,  she  gave  her 
order  with  a  certain  cool  dominance  which  character 
ized  her  when  speaking  to  a  servant,  and  which  must 
have  induced  something  besides  liking  in  a  servant's 
heart. 

When  she  came  to  her  aunt's  room  in  her  riding- 
habit,  a  few  moments  later,  that  lady  said  : 

"  I've  been  thinking  " — pausing. 


AN    AMANUENSIS  IIQ 

"  Well  ?" 

"  If  the  girl's  clothes  should  smell  of  cabbage — 

"  Oh,  they  won't.  If  you  had  seen  her  you  wouldn't 
say  that." 

Miss  Nunally  stood  fitting  on  her  gloves  with  her 
whip  under  her  arm. 

"Well,  if  you  are  sure,"  returned  Mrs.  Darrah; 
"but  it  occurred  to  me  that  cabbage  was  something 
that  they  used  to  have  at  home  when  we  were  so 
poor — by  the  way,  why  does  that  vegetable  always 
accompany  poverty  ?  That's  an  interesting  question. 
Please  hand  me  my  note-book  from  that  table.  Some 
time  I  will  write  an  essay.  I  can  see  how  it  might 
be  made  very  telling.  But  you  are  sure  that  she 
won't  bring  any  odor  ?" 

"  Positive." 

"  And  she  isn't  a  coarse  little  thing?  You  know  I 
can't  bear  anything  coarse  near  me.  I  never  should 
have  invited  you,  Portia." 

"  I  shall  leave  you  to  judge  whether  she  is  coarse 
or  not,"  interrupted  Portia,  in  her  usual  ruthless 
manner,  which  was  yet  smooth,  and  which  possessed 
the  merit  of  rarely  irritating  her  aunt. 

It  was  a  curious  fact  that  strangers  nearly  always 
thought  that  Miss  Nunally  was  the  one  possessed  of 
wealth,  and  that  she  was  hospitable  and  kind  to  her 
aunt  Florence,  taking  her  round  with  her  and  paying 
the  bills. 

This  fact  greatly  amused  Mrs.  Darrah.  She  con 
fided  to  some  of  her  friends  that  she  never  could 
have  endured  her  niece  if  the  girl  had  acted  in  the 
least  like  a  poor  relation.  It  tickled  Mrs.  Darrah's 
sense  of  humor  greatly  to  see  Portia  domineering  in 
that  insolent,  polite  way,  and  she  gave  money  quite 


120  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

freely  that  the  girl  might  know,  as  she  said,  "  the  feel 
of  it  in  her  pocket."  Not  that  it  remained  long  in 
her  pocket.  For  Miss  Nunally  was  generous  with 
that  free-handedness  that  frequently  belongs  to  peo 
ple  who  do  not  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  earn  the 
money  they  spend  or  give  out.  And  this  pauper,  for 
Portia  sometimes  indulged  in  the  ridiculous  luxury  of 
calling  herself  a  pauper,  was,  when  she  chose,  a  very 
fascinating  woman.  But  she  was  not  married.  And 
she  was  nearer  thirty  than  twenty. 

She  would  sometimes  remark,  in  a  confidential 
manner,  that  she  would  say  "  yes  "  to  the  first  respect 
able  man  with  money  who  should  ask  her  to  be  his 
wife,  and  that  not  until  she  was  married  should  she 
dream  of  falling  in  love. 

"  Of  course,"  a  shocked  hearer  would  respond, 
"you  will  love  your  husband." 

Whereupon  Portia  would  look  full  in  the  face  of 
her  companion,  and  smile  in  an  utterly  indescribable 
manner. 

"  Really,"  superciliously,  "  I  didn't  know  women 
were  in  the  habit  of  loving  their  husbands.  But  I 
shall  love  mine  quite  distractedly.  I  shall  make  him 
run  to  heel  like  a  spaniel,  and  I  adore  spaniels." 

Altogether  Miss  Nunally  was  considered  by  mothers 
to  be  a  dangerous  kind  of  person  to  have  wandering 
loose  among  their  innocent  young  daughters.  Not 
that  they  could  put  their  finger  on  anything.  And 
that,  they  said,  in  conclave,  was  the  very  worst  feature 
about  Mrs.  Darrah's  niece  :  you  could  not  put  your 
finger  on  anything.  So,  and  because  she  was  Mrs. 
Darrah's  niece,  she  was  admitted  everywhere. 

But  she  was  too  daring ;  one  never  knew  when  she 
might  do  something  really  to  injure  her  reputation. 


AN    AMANUENSIS  121 

Men  with  wives  found  her  too  charming.  Men  en 
gaged  to  the  nicest  girls  in  the  world  discovered  that 
there  was  something  in  Portia  Nunally's  smile,  and 
something  in  her  voice — it  was  impossible  to  tell 
what  it  was ;  but  it  was  easy  enough  to  decide  that  it 
was  potent. 

It  was,  thus  far,  in  vain  that  Mrs.  Darrah  warned 
the  girl  that  if  she  went  on  at  this  rate  the  men  would 
find  out  that  she  was  not  the  kind  of  woman  that 
would  make  a  good  wife. 

At  this  point  Portia  would  laugh.  And  Mrs.  Dar 
rah  would  sink  back  in  her  chair  and  say  she  was 
sorry  she  had  asked  the  girl  down  to  Florida. 

Then  Portia  would  laugh  again,  and  remark  that 
she  knew  very  well  that  she  had  come  there  to  get  a 
husband,  and  that  her  aunt  would  not  be  so  cruel  as 
to  send  her  home  without  one.  For  then  the  whole 
thing  would  have  to  be  done  over  again.  And  women 
grew  old  so  soon. 

Portia  had  a  light  contralto  voice,  and  on  these  oc 
casions  she  would  sometimes  stand  with  great  cle- 
mureness  before  her  aunt  and  sing  with  ardor  the 
following  lines  : 

"  '  A  husband,  Saint  Catharine  ; 

A  handsome  one,  Saint  Catharine  ; 
A  rich  one,  Saint  Catharine  ; 
A  nice  one,  Saint  Catharine  ; 
And  soon,  Saint  Catharine.'" 

Mrs.  Darrah  would  smile,  and  then  groan. 

"But  you  don't  give  one  the  idea  that  you  are — 
well— domestic.  You  know  that  is  what  men  like, 
Portia." 

"  I  certainly  never  will  cook  a  man's  dinner,  and  I 


122  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

never  will  mend  his  stockings — if  that  is  what  you 
mean,  Aunt  Florence." 

"Oh,"  in  despair  from  the  elder  woman,  "I  don't 
know  what  I  mean  !" 

"  Write  a  book  about  it,"  was  the  flippant  counsel. 
"  When  a  person  doesn't  know  exactly  what  he  means, 
then  that  person  writes  a  book,  and  then  other  per 
sons  don't  know  what  he  means,  either.  But  you  may 
label  me  as  '  warranted  domestic '  if  you  choose,  and 
I  will  not  deny  the  statement  if  you  think  the  hus 
band  will  come  any  sooner." 

It  will  be  seen  that  there  was  a  degree  of  frank 
ness  between  these  two  concerning  the  subject  of 
marriage,  and  that  they  were  not  in  the  least  senti 
mental. 

And  it  was  this  girl  who  now  rode  out  of  St.  Au 
gustine  alone  on  her  horse,  or  rather  upon  the  horse 
her  aunt  had  provided  for  her. 

But  she  first  cantered  around  the  little  Plaza  to 
make  sure  that  Miss  Gerry  was  not  there. 

Then  she  struck  out  at  a  brisk  gait  down  Marine 
Street.  A  number  of  officers  were  sauntering  about 
by  the  band-stand.  She  saw  them  all,  and,  more  than 
that,  she  knew  that  they  all  saw  her,  and  that  they 
would  be  obliged  to  say  that  she  rode  well. 

They  did  say  that.  And  the  oldest  among  them 
explained  to  the  others  that  that  girl  belonged  to  the 
Darrah  woman ;  that  the  Darrah  woman — the  one 
who  wrote  books,  you  know — had  been  trying  to 
marry  her  off  for  two  or  three  years  now,  but  some 
how  the  men  were  shy  when  you  came  right  down  to 
hardpan,  you  know.  Awfully  fetching  girl,  though. 
Could  look  a  man's  heart  right  out  of  him. 

"  Did  you  tell  your  wife  that,  Major  ?"  asked  one. 


AN    AMANUENSIS  123 

And  the  Major  winked  with  one  puffy  eye  and  said 
he  always  told  Mrs.  Major  everything.  Whereat  the 
rest  laughed. 

And  Miss  Nunally,  \vell  past  them  long  before  this 
time  and  beyond  St.  Francis  Street,  was  leaving  the 
bit  of  a  city  behind  her  and  making  for  the  Maria 
Sanchez  Creek. 

She  had  never  been  this  way  before,  and  that  soli 
tude  that  is  sorrowful  and  yet  winning,  and  which 
seems  to  belong  peculiarly  to  the  South,  immediately 
appealed  to  her. 

It  was  low  tide,  and  groups  of  little  bare-legged 
negro  boys  were  picking  up  oysters  and  pounding 
them  open  between  water- worn  stones,  greedily  swal 
lowing  the  morsel,  chattering,  shrieking,  and  singing 
as  they  did  so. 

The  waters  of  the  Matanzas  glittered  beneath  a 
clear  sky.  This  was  one  of  the  clays  when  a  north 
west  wind  blew  and  rolled  up  lines  of  foam  the  other 
side  of  Anastasia ;  when  the  ships  going  up  or  down 
out  there  on  the  ocean  were  so  clearly  defined  that 
they  seemed  sketched  against  the  sky. 

The  air  was  exhilarating  without  being  rasping. 
The  levels  stretching  away  in  front  of  the  girl  and  at 
her  right  were  brownish  green,  a  deep  hue  that 
changed  its  tints  as  the  wind  blew  over  them. 

As  Miss  Nunally  sat  on  her  horse  a  group  of  wild 
marsh  ponies  came  in  sight,  galloping  up  from  the 
banks  of  the  Sebastian  River.  Miss  Nunally's  own 
steed  suddenly  straightened  himself  and  whinnied 
shrilly. 

The  little  ponies  paused  in  their  sweeping  gallop, 
and  stood  with  heads  erect  and  manes  flowing  back. 
One  gave  a  snort,  then  another  and  another,  after 


124  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

which  they  all  turned  and  galloped  back  to  the  Se 
bastian  River  again. 

"  If  I  were  a  wild  marsh  pony,"  soliloquized  Miss 
Nunally,  "  I  should  not  be  obliged  to  have  so  many 
gloves,  and  mamma  and  Aunt  Florence  would  not  be 
trying  to  find  me  a  suitable  husband.  And  " — she 
looked  up  with  a  sudden  change  of  face — "I  should 
be  under  such  a  sky  as  this  all  the  time." 

The  girl's  horse  walked  on  for  half  an  hour  through 
heavy  sand  and  palmetto  scrub.  It  was  along  this 
way  that  Salome  Gerry  toiled  when  she  came  into 
town  to  sit  on  the  Plaza  or  on  the  water-battery  of  the 
old  fort.  But  she  maintained  that  it  paid  her.  Yes; 
although  her  shoes  were  the  receptacles  of  a  great 
deal  of  sand,  and  her  skirts  were  festooned  with  sand- 
spurs,  and  red  bugs  disported  themselves  upon  her. 

It  was  not  far  beyond  the  curves  of  the  shore, 
where  the  little  river  emptied  itself  silently  into  the 
ocean  inlet  that  they  call  the  Matanzas,  that  Mr.  Job 
Maine  resided.  It  would  hardly  be  correct  to  say 
that  he  lived.  He  did  not  live  anywhere.  He  re 
sided;  he  stayed. 

And  this  was  where  his  truck  grew;  that  is,  it 
grew  here  when  it  grew  anywhere.  But  if  truck  is 
not  planted  it  will  not  grow,  even  in  Florida. 

There  was  the  long  trunk  of  a  pine-tree  which  Mr. 
Maine  had  some  years  before,  in  one  of  the  times 
when  he  "  flaxed  round,"  to  quote  his  own  words, 
burned  at  the  roots  so  that  it  fell  to  the  ground. 

Mr.  Maine  ever  since  had  "  aimed "  to  cut  this 
tree  up  for  firewood.  But  thus  far  he  had  anticipated 
that  it  would  be  considerable  trouble  to  cut  it  up,  and 
he  had  not  done  so ;  and  he  did  not  always  find  it 
quite  convenient  to  plough  and  put  seed  into  the 


AN    AMANUENSIS  125 

ground  at  the  proper  time.  Altogether,  things  were 
quite  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  Job  Maine.  What  he 
really  wanted  to  do  was  to  sit  on  that  pine  which  he 
had  burnt  down  and  meditatively  suck  a  pipe,  or  roll 
tobacco  from  one  side  of  his  mouth  to  the  other. 
His  pigs  ran  about  in  the  sand.  He  did  not  know,  or 
care,  what  they  ate.  He  only  knew  that  he  should 
eat  them  when  he  was  ready.  And  if  he  had  planted 
kale,  he  should  boil  some  kale  with  the  pork,  or,  rather, 
he  should  tell  his  wife  to  do  it. 

Mr.  Maine,  as  he  sat  on  his  pine-tree,  used  to  say 
that  it  was  "  turrible  hard  work  to  git  er  livin',  'spe 
cially  if  a  man  had  a  wife  to  support.  Women  were 
so  'xtravagant." 

This  gentleman  now  looked  forward  to  longer 
periods  of  sitting  on  that  tree,  for  he  was  to  be  in  re 
ceipt  of  a  regular  income  of  five  dollars  a  month'from 
Mrs.  Gerry  as  rent  for  the  building  which  she  and 
her  daughter  occupied. 

It  was  not  worth  one  dollar  a  month,  but  Mrs.  Gerry 
did  not  know  that.  She  was  sure  it  was  the  cheapest 
way  she  could  live. 

And  the  ozone  was  thrown  in.  In  fact,  Mr.  Maine 
said  he  should  not  charge  a  cent  for  the  climate,  any 
way. 

As  the  house  in  which  the  Gerrys  lived  was  built 
of  logs,  and  as  the  interstices  between  the  logs  were 
not  filled,  the  two  women  felt  that  they  had  nearly  as 
much  climate  when  they  were  in  the  house  as  when 
they  were  out  of  it. 

"And  as  it  is  air  I  want,"  said  Salome,  cheerily, 
"why,  I  cannot  complain." 

But  everything  was  bitter  as  gall  to  Mrs.  Gerry. 
She  hated  that  wretched,  one -roomed  hut,  with  its 


126  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

clay  and  log  chimney,  which  had  great  holes  in  it. 
There  was  no  window,  only  the  door  to  let  in  light. 
And  the  door  had  no  hinges,  and  was  to  be  taken  up 
bodily  and  set  in  its  place.  As  this  could  be  done 
better  without  the  hovel  than  within  it,  there  was 
much  discussion  between  the  two  women  as  to  how 
they  should  get  in  after  they  had  put  the  door  up 
from  the  outside. 

Mr.  Maine,  when  consulted,  said  he  aimed  to  fix 
that  door  before  his  tenants  went  North.  And  mean 
while  he  professed  entire  willingness  to  come  any 
time  when  the  women  were  inside  and  put  up  the 
door.  He  said  most  likely  he  should  be  settin'  on 
that  pine-tree  restin',  or  somewhere  near,  and  if  they 
scritched  he  should  hear  them  and  would  set  the 
door  right  up.  And  he  shouldn't  charge  anything, 
either. 

Being  interrogated  as  to  the  safety  from  evil  people 
which  this  door  did  not  provide,  Mr.  Maine  said  he 
supposed  two  women  wouldn't  be  safe  up  North,  but 
here  in  Florida  he  was  of  the  opinion  that  they  were 
safer  with  a  door  like  that  than  if  it  had  a  burglar- 
proof  lock  on  it.  He  argued  that  no  man  coming 
along  and  seeing  that  door  in  that  condition  would 
think  it  worth  while  to  take  it  down. 

"Why,  Mis'  Gerry,  don't  you  see  that  a  feller  would 
say  to  himself  :  '  There  ain't  nothin'  behind  that  thar 
do',  'n'  I  sha'n't  tech  it.'  That's  about  what  a  feller 
'd  say.  'N'  he'd  go  on  'n'  break  in  somewhar  whar 
they  was  fastened  and  bolted  and  chained  up.  Ain't 
that  reasonable,  say  ?  But  I  don't  say  but  what  I 
aim  to  fix  up  that  do'  'fore  you  go  North." 

Mrs.  Gerry  would  reply,  sharply,  that  she  did  not 
reason  in  that  way. 


AN    AMANUENSIS  127 

She  had  gone  to  St.  Augustine  and  had  bought  a  bed, 
a  table,  and  two  chairs.  These  articles,  together  with 
a  lamp-stove,  were  now  standing  in  the  hut.  Every 
thing  else  she  had  managed  to  bring  in  their  trunk. 

Every  time  it  rained  she  appealed  fiercely  to  her 
landlord  to  do  something  about  stopping  the  leaks. 
He  said  that  was  another  thing  he  was  aiming  to  do 
'fore  she  went  North.  As  yet  there  had  been  only 
showers  in  the  two  weeks  since  their  establishment  in 
the  cabin. 

At  first,  Mrs.  Gerry  was  in  a  panic  lest  Salome 
should  take  cold.  But  she  did  not.  Nothing  seemed 
to  hurt  her.  She  was  out-of-doors  all  day.  She 
laughed  at  inconveniences  which  made  her  mother 
almost  frantic  with  indignation.  "  People  needn't 
live  so,"  the  Yankee  woman  said  a  dozen  times  a 
day. 

When  it  did  rain  they  would  sit  by  a  fire  on  the 
hearth,  with  the  door  leaned  up  in  its  place.  And 
Mrs.  Gerry  would  say  that  the  only  reason  the  old  hut 
didn't  burn  clown  was  because  it  was  raining.  That 
was  no  kind  of  a  chimney. 

"  And  what  shall  we  do  in  a  north-east  storm  ?" 

"  Let  us  wait  until  the  storm  comes,"  recommended 
Salome. 

Her  mother  turned  and  looked  at  her  sharply.  She 
hardly  felt  that  she  knew  the  child. 

"That's  no  way,"  she  said,  with  some  edge  to  her 
voice. 

"  What's  the  use  of  taking  life  so  hard,  mother  ? 
Do  you  know  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  wouldn't  fight 
any  more  ?  At  home,  you  know,  everybody  is  fight 
ing  something.  They  fight  their  own  sins  a  good 
deal.  I  am  going  to  take  things  easy." 


128  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  take  things  as  easy  as  Job 
Maine  ?" 

"  I've  found  out  how  delightful  it  is  just  to  sit  in 
the  sunlight,"  answered  the  girl,  earnestly.  "  And  I'm 
tired  of  resisting,  resisting.  That's  all  life  seems  to 
be,  in  the  North.  And  here  it's  yielding,  yielding. 
It's  a  great  deal  more  comfortable.  I  don't  think  I 
understand  myself  any  more,  mother,"  with  increas 
ing  earnestness.  "  I  seem  to  be  somebody  else.  It's 
just  as  if  there  were  something  in  me  that  I  didn't  know 
about,  and  that  coming  here  had  called  into  life.  I 
have  a  great  deal  more  physical  energy  than  I  had,  but 
I  have  thought  that  in  some  pre-existence  I  was  some 
thing  or  other  that  just  loved  to  live  in  warm  air  and 
sunshine,  and  that  didn't  care  much  for  anything  else. 
Or  that  I  am  not  the  kind  of  girl  I  thought  I  was.  I 
don't  think  so  much  as  to  whether  a  thing  is  right  or 
wrong  any  more.  And,  worse  than  that,  I'm  glad  I 
don't.  It  was  so  very  trying  to  be  always  asking  my 
self  that,  you  know.  I  used  to  feel  sometimes  as  if 
I  was  like  that  story  about  the  sharp  blade  wearing 
through  the  scabbard.  You  see  I'm  different,  some 
how.  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  be  very  wicked  ? 
But  if  I  am,  I  don't  believe  I  shall  repent  one  bit." 

Mrs.  Gerry,  who  was  tacking  up  some  cotton  cloth 
against  the  walls,  hoping  it  would  keep  out  wind  and 
rain,  got  down  from  her  chair  that  she  might  the  bet 
ter  look  at  the  girl,  who  was  leaning  in  the  doorway 
and  gazing  out  into  the  sunshine. 

But,  after  all,  as  the  woman  told  herself,  it  was  not 
so  much  what  Salome  said  as  the  tone  in  which  she 
said  it. 

There  was  something  in  that  voice  that  frightened 
Mrs.  Gerry.  If  the  voice  had  not  been  in  such  close 


AN    AMANUENSIS  129 

sympathy  with  the  words — why,  what  had  come  over 
the  child  ? 

"  I  can  explain  the  mystery,"  Mrs.  Gerry  said,  with 
more  assurance  than  she  felt. 

Salome  turned  her  glance  to  her  mother.  There 
was  so  little  of  anything  austere  in  the  young  face 
now,  that  it  was  difficult  to  think  there  ever  had  been 
any  such  quality  there. 

As  the  mother  met  the  daughter's  eyes  she  repressed 
an  exclamation  of  anxious  surprise.  She  restrained 
herself  from  shrinking  back  a  step.  For  one  painful 
instant  she  felt  as  if  it  were  the  glance  of  a  stranger. 
Then  that  feeling  passed. 

She  rarely  caressed  Salome.  But  now  she  sudden 
ly  dropped  the  hammer  she  had  been  using  and  put 
her  arms  about  the  girl. 

Salome  smiled,  and  responded  warmly  to  the  caress. 

"But  you  have  not  explained,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  that  is  easy,"  responded  the  woman,  now 
holding  the  other  away  from  her  and  gazing  at  her. 

Then  she  forgot  for  the  moment  what  she  had  been 
going  to  say.  A  sense  of  bewilderment  was  upon  her. 
Her  clear  mind  seemed  to  be  groping  helplessly. 

"Well?"  said  Salome,  still  smiling. 

"  When  you  were  at  home  you  were  ill,  more  or 
less,  and  your  body  reacted  on  your  mind  and  made 
you  morbid.  You  certainly  were  morbidly  conscien 
tious.  It  used  to  worry  me  that  you  would  think  you 
were  so  liable  to  commit  so  much  sin.  You  were 
always  such  a  good  girl,  Salome.  You  were  so  anx 
ious  to  do  right." 

"  And  I  don't  care  a  bit  now  whether  I  do  right  or 
not." 

"Of  course  you  can't  be  always  thinking  of  that. 
9 


130  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

If  the  attitude  of  your  mind  is  right  you  will  involun 
tarily  take  the  right  path.  We  needn't  be  examining 
ourselves  all  the  time." 

Mrs.  Gerry  became  more  and  more  earnest  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  telling  herself  that  the  girl 
had  taken  a  whim — it  could  be  but  a  whim. 

"  But  I  don't  think  the  attitude  of  my  mind  is 
right  any  more.  That's  what  I'm  trying  to  tell  you, 
mother." 

Salome  disengaged  herself  from  her  mother's  arm. 
She  walked  about  the  cabin  touching  absently  this 
and  that.  The  sunshine,  warm  and  penetrating  as 
sunshine  is  in  Florida  in  November,  came  through  the 
doorway  and  seemed  to  fill  the  place. 

Salome  came  back  and  stood  in  the  sunlight  again. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "when  we  experience  re 
ligion  they  say  we  are  born  again,  and  are  really 
different." 

"Yes,"  was  the  response. 

"  Well,  that's  the  way  I  feel— as  if  I  had  been  born 
again,  only  not  into  any  spiritual  life,  but  into  the 
richness,  the  opulence,  of  this  earthly  life.  Perhaps,'' 
speaking  less  earnestly,  "  perhaps  I  am  drunk  with 
this  sunlight.  I  know  I  feel  as  I  fancy  the  old  pagans 
must  have  felt — that  I  will  make  the  most  of  this  life. 
This  we  have,  this  we  are  sure  of  while  it  lasts." 

"Oh,  Salome!"  exclaimed  her  mother.  "That's 
only  a  vagary.  You  are  getting  well,  and  because 
your  bodily  strength  is  so  much  greater  you  are 
having  these  notions.  You  are — " 

A  voice  outside  interrupted  Mrs.  Gerry's  words. 

"  Hello  !    Hello  the  house  !"  said  the  voice. 

And  at  the  same  time  a  horse's  head  came  into 
sight  from  the  other  side  of  the  cabin. 


AN    AMANUENSIS  131 

And  presently  it  was  seen  that  there  was  a  girl 
upon  the  horse. 

Salome  sprang  out  from  the  hut  with  an  eager  ex 
clamation. 

"  I  came  for  an  amanuensis,"  said  Miss  Nunally. 


VIII 

"MATERIAL  " 

SALOME  walked  up  to  the  horse  and  leaned  upon 
its  shoulder,  hardly  greeting  the  horse's  rider  in  her 
interest  in  what  that  rider  had  just  said. 

"Really?"  she  asked;  "oh,  please  don't  joke  about 
such  an  important  subject  as  my  earning  money.  But 
what  can  you  want  of  an  amanuensis  ?" 

"  I  didn't  say  I  wanted  one.  I  said  I  came  for  one, 
and  I  have.  I'm  going  to  dismount.  Give  me  your 
hand.  There.  Oh,  how  do  you  live  here  ?  I  have 
no  vocation  for  roughing  it.  I  was  made  to  be  rich ; 
but  I  am  poor.  It's  horrible  to  miss  one's  destiny, 
and  to  be  conscious  of  it." 

Miss  Nunally  had  stepped  within  the  cabin  and  was 
looking  about  her.  But  there  was  no  insolence  in  her 
manner  now,  and  Mrs.  Gerry,  who  had  been  sure  she 
should  heartily  dislike  this  girl  of  whom  her  daughter 
had  spoken,  was  surprised  that  she  should  be  drawn 
towards  her  in  some  way. 

It  was  true,  however,  that  when  Miss  Nunally  chose 
there  was  a  certain  delicate,  almost  admiring  defer 
ence  in  her  manner  which  few  resisted — until  they 
came  to  think  the  matter  over  and  to  decide  that  they 
ought  to  resist. 

Now  when  Mrs.  Gerry  looked  at  the  elegant  figure 
sitting  upon  one  of  the  straight  wooden  chairs  she 


"  MATERIAL  133 

told  herself  that  this  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  girl  of 
whom  she  approved  ;  why,  then,  did  she  like  her  ? 
For  Mrs.  Gerry  was  quite  decided  in  her  own  mind 
that  she  should  never  be  drawn  to  anything  of  which 
she  did  not  approve. 

Salome  stood  in  the  doorway,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
her  guest. 

"  But  we  cannot  miss  our  destiny,"  she  said.  "  Our 
destiny  will  come  to  us." 

"  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  Then  if  I  am  destined  to 
marry  a  rich  man,  Aunt  Florence  need  not  have  been 
to  the  trouble  of  having  me  down  here." 

And  Miss  Nunally  gave  that  short,  character-reveal 
ing  laugh  from  which  Salome  involuntarily  shrank. 
But  now  the  tone  and  the  laugh  seemed  to  contain  a 
bitter  self-mockery. 

"  You  said  you  wanted  to  earn  money,"  she  went  on, 
immediately.  "  Come  and  write  for  Mrs.  Darrah." 

Salome  could  hardly  believe  what  she  heard.  Then 
her  face  fell. 

"  But  I  am  not  a  type-writer  or  a  stenographer.  Oh, 
it  is  too  bad !  But  I  will  learn  ;  yes,  I  will  learn 
directly." 

She  turned  with  a  fiery  impulsiveness  towards  her 
mother. 

There  was  a  sharp  envy  in  Miss  Nunally's  heart  as 
she  looked  at  her.  She  rose  quickly.  Had  she  ever 
been  as  young,  as  unsullied  as  this  girl  ? 

"  I  can't  wait,"  she  said  ;  "  I  must  go  back  immedi 
ately.  Come  this  afternoon,  before  my  aunt  changes 
her  mind.  She  writes  books,  and  my  advice  to  you 
is,  don't  rely  upon  people  who  write  books." 

"But  I  will  go  now."  Salome  stepped  forward. 
There  was  a  touching  enthusiasm  and  hope  in  her 


134  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

slightest  movement.  She  was  thinking  of  her  father, 
and  that  now  she  could,  perhaps,  be  a  help. 

"  If  there  is  any  danger  that  she  will  change  her 
mind,  do  let  me  go  now." 

"  Very  well.  But  you  will  walk  and  I  shall  ride, 
and  thus  you  will  make  me  feel  mean  all  the  way. 
And  I  don't  enjoy  feeling  mean.  But  I  will  sacrifice 
myself." 

The  two  girls  started  back.  Mrs.  Gerry  warned  her 
daughter  not  to  expect  anything.  It  was  wisest  never 
to  expect  anything  in  this  world. 

When  at  last  they  came  to  Marine  Street  on  their 
return  Miss  Nunally,  who  had  been  unusally  silent, 
suddenly  stopped  her  horse,  which  had  walked  all  the 
way  while  Salome  had  plodded  on  behind,  hardly 
conscious  of  the  deep  sand  or  of  anything  save  the 
deliciousness  of  the  air  and  a  general  and  wonderful 
sense  of  well-being  and  elation. 

When  Miss  Nunally  spoke  to  her  she  was  compos 
ing  the  letter  to  her  father  which  should  accompany 
the  first  money  she  would  send  him. 

She  could  see  the  look  in  her  father's  eyes  when  he 
read  what  she  would  write.  She  was  not  going  to  be 
a  useless  creature  any  more. 

She  came  up  beside  Miss  Nunally  and  looked  in 
quiringly  at  her. 

As  for  Miss  Nunally,  she  gazed  so  steadily  at  her 
companion  for  a  moment  that  Salome's  eyes  fell,  and 
she  unconsciously  moved  a  step  away.  She  wished 
to  put  up  her  hands  before  her  face,  but  she  restrained 
herself  from  doing  that. 

"  Come ;  come  here,  closer,"  at  last  said  Miss 
Nunally. 

Salome's  first  impulse  was  to  say  "  No  ;  no — I  will 


"MATERIAL"  135 

not."  But  instead  of  yielding  to  that  impulse  she 
slowly  obeyed  and  came  close  to  Portia,  who  leaned 
forward  and  put  her  hand  on  Salome's  shoulder,  press 
ing  somewhat  heavily  upon  it. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Miss  Nunally,  in  an  absorbed 
manner. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  was  the  reply,  given  in  a 
somewhat  cold  voice. 

"  What  has  happened  to  you  ?" 

"Tome?     Nothing.     Only  I'm  getting  well." 

"  You  are  really  getting  well  ?" 

"Yes,  certainly.     Can  you  not  see  it?" 

"  Then  it  must  be  the  reassertion  of  the  body  and 
its  predilections — and  the  effect  of  climate.  I  don't 
think  people  half  understand  the  effect  of  climate  on 
the  moral  creature  that  is  supposed  to  be  in  each  one 
of  us.  Of  course  I  don't  mind  such  things ;  they 
don't  have  any  effect  on  me — I'm  not  good,  anyway. 
But  you,  Miss  Gerry,  do  you  mind  my  telling  you  that 
when  I  saw  you  on  the  train  a  few  weeks  ago  you 
looked  like — now  you  can't  possibly  guess  what  you 
looked  like,  can  you  ?" 

"No." 

"  Of  course  not.  The  idea  positively  haunted  me 
afterwards.  You  were  precisely  a  visible  New  England 
conscience.  It  was  just  as  if  I  had  met  a  conscience, 
you  know — a  stringent,  rigid  conscience  that  brought 
its  owner  up  in  the  shortest  kind  of  way,  and  tor 
mented  no  end.  Now,  wasn't  that  odd  —  for  me, 
Portia  Nunally,  to  meet  a  naked  conscience,  if  you 
will  allow  me  the  term  ?  Wasn't  it  odd  ?" 

"  Very,"  still  more  coldly  from  Salome. 

"You  need  not  be  offended.  I  have  something 
more  just  as  strange  to  tell  you.  It  is  more  than  a 


136  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

week  since  I  saw  you ;  and  when  I  did  meet  you  last 
I  fancied  you  were  changed.  Now  I'm  sure  of  it. 
You  don't  look  that  way  any  more.  Do  forgive  me 
for  being  so  personal." 

"What  way?"  asked  Salome,  ignoring  the  last  re 
mark,  but  looking  very  much  as  if  she  would  not  for 
give. 

"  Why,  like  a  conscience,  you  know.  Positively,  I 
would  not  think  now  that  you  had  any  more  of  it  than 
I  have.  And  those  who  know  me  best  say  I  haven't 
any — that  is,  not  any  that  stops  me  from  doing  any 
thing  I  want  to  do.  Are  you  offended,  Miss  Gerry  ?" 
with  some  show  of  solicitude. 

"Yes,  I  am." 

Salome  did  not  know  why  she  felt  such  a  strong 
emotion  of  terror.  Had  she  not  told  her  mother  that 
very  morning  that  she  was  glad  that  she  was  not  now 
so  constantly  asking  concerning  the  right  and  wrong 
of  a  thing  ?  She  looked  about  her  as  if  she  would 
escape  from  something,  she  knew  not  what.  Then, 
with  a  swift  grasp  at  self-control  and  reason,  she  came 
again  near  Miss  Nunally.  She  even  smiled  as  she 
said : 

"  It  is  silly  to  be  so  very  fanciful.  You  have  been 
saying  absurd  things." 

Portia  gathered  up  the  bridle  that  had  fallen  for 
ward  on  the  horse's  neck. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it ;  but  absurd  things  are  sometimes 
true  things,"  she  answered.  "  Besides,  I  am  not 
alone  in  this  fancy  about  you." 

Salome  said  nothing.  She  was  fast  becoming  com 
posed  again. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  who  else  has  had  these 
absurd  ideas  concerning  you  ?" 


"MATERIAL"  137 

"  Well,  who  has  ?" 

"  The  young  man  who  was  so  kind  to  you  on  the 
journey  down  here,"  said  Miss  Nunally. 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,"  looking  at  Salome.  "  He  has  since  confided 
these  fancies  to  me.  Miss  Gerry" — Portia  reached 
forth  and  laid  her  finger  lightly  on  Salome's  cheek — 
"  Miss  Gerry,  I  have  long  wanted  to  ask  you  a  ques 
tion." 

"Ask  it." 

"  Will  you  answer  me  truly  ?" 

"  If  I  answer  at  all." 

"  Of  course  that;  but  will  you  tell  me  why  you  never 
blush  ?" 

Having  put  this  interrogation,  Miss  Nunally  dropped 
all  seriousness  of  demeanor,  and  she  waited  for  no  re 
ply.  But  she  did  not  immediately  go  on  ;  her  horse 
still  remained  quiet. 

"  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Darrah,  requires  only  one  recom 
mendation  as  regards  you,  Miss  Gerry,  and  that  is 
negative.  There  must  be  no  odor  of  cabbage  about 
you.  I  have  been  your  guarantee  on  that  head." 

The  two  girls  laughed. 

In  half  an  hour  Salome  was  sitting  in  Mrs.  Dar- 
rah's  room.  That  lady  was  among  shawls  and  pil 
lows,  as  usual. 

Salome  was  trying  not  to  be  overcome  by  the  mag 
nificence  of  the  hotel,  and  was  at  the  same  time  feel 
ing  a  sort  of  longing  kinship  with  it.  Mrs.  Darrah, 
after  the  first  glance  at  her  visitor,  sat  upright  and 
looked  again  at  the  girl.  Salome  waited  for  the  other 
to  speak.  She  had  been  ushered  in  by  Miss  Nunally, 
who  had  immediately  left  them. 

Mrs.  Darrah  had    times  of  rather  priding  herself 


138  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

upon  her  frankness.  She  now  said  that  her  niece 
had  given  her  reason  to  believe  that  the  girl  she  had 
spoken  of  was  not  coarse,  and  that  she,  Mrs.  Darrah, 
could  not  endure  anything  coarse  near  her.  She  ex 
plained  that  she  had  been  obliged  to  endure  a  great 
deal  when  she  was  young  and  poor,  but  now  that  she 
was  old  and  rich  she  did  not  propose  to  bear  anything 
disagreeable. 

Salome  could  think  of  no  suitable  reply  to  make  to 
this  statement,  so  she  remained  silent. 

"You  don't  look  coarse,"  now  frankly  remarked 
Mrs.  Darrah.  She  followed  this  up  by  asking  abrupt 
ly  if  Miss  Gerry  had  read  any  of  her  books. 

"No." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  I  shall  like  the  judgment  of  a 
young,  unsullied  mind.  It  is  the  judgment  of  such 
minds  that  I  want.  The  critics  don't  think  much  of 
me ;  but,  then,  I  make  things  even  by  not  thinking 
much  of  them.  You  remember  what  D'Israeli  says  of 
critics,  Miss  Gerry?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  known  what  he  said," 
replied  Salome. 

"  Really  ?  Well,  he  said  that  they  were  those  who 
had  failed  in  literature  and  art.  And  I  agree  with 
D'Israeli.  We  might  begin  work  directly.  I  believe 
that  I  feel  the  coming  on  of  the  divine  afflatus.  I  like 
to  call  it  that.  It  pleases  me,  though  it  probably  is 
no  more  a  divine  afflatus  than  is  that  peculiar  aura 
which  precedes  an  attack  of  epilepsy.  I  don't  cherish 
any  delusions — about  myself  or  any  one  else.  I  know 
precisely  how  my  work  ranks.  Please  sit  down  at  that 
desk :  you  will  find  pen  and  paper  there.  Yes.  Per 
haps  you  use  a  stylo.  No  ?  Choose  your  pen,  please. 
Dip  it  in  the  ink.  It  annoys  me  to  have  a  person  clip 


"  MATERIAL  139 

a  pen  for  the  first  time  after  I  begin  to  dictate.  Are 
you  ready  ?" 

Salome  had  obeyed.  She  now  wheeled  round  in 
her  chair  and  explained  hurriedly  that  she  could  not 
write  shorthand,  and,  perhaps,  after  all,  she  ought  not 
try  to  fill  this  position.  And  she  could  not  help  add 
ing  earnestly  that  if  Mrs.  Darrah  would  only  have  pa 
tience  with  her  she  would  immediately  begin  the  study 
of  shorthand. 

Mrs.  Darrah  had  now  leaned  her  head  back  and 
seemed  about  to  close  her  eyes  ;  but  she  kept  her 
eyelids  raised  until  she  had  assured  Salome  that  she 
did  not  insist  upon  stenography ;  that  she  should 
probably  dictate  very  slowly,  but  the  young  lady  might 
learn  it  at  her  leisure. 

"  Are  you  ready  now  ?" 

Salome,  with  an  ungovernable  sense  of  the  ludicrous 
upon  her,  dipped  her  pen  again,  and  said,  "  Yes." 

She  held  her  hand  suspended  for  a  moment  and 
gazed  intently  at  the  blank  sheet  of  paper  before  her. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Darrah  was  not  in  the 
least  awe-inspiring,  the  knowledge  that  she  had  writ 
ten  things  which  had  actually  been  printed  impressed 
the  girl  a  great  deal.  She  could  not  help  wondering 
as  to  what  were  the  sensations  of  a  person  who  had 
seen  her  name  in  print.  Such  a  woman,  she  fancied, 
could  never  again  be  entirely  unhappy. 

With  these  things  in  mind  she  continued  to  hold 
the  pen  over  the  paper. 

And  the  silence  also  continued. 

At  last  she  gave  a  furtive  glance  towards  the  woman 
in  the  lounging-chair ;  but  she  withdrew  her  eyes  sud 
denly,  for  they  encountered  Mrs.  Darrah's  gaze  fixed 
upon  her. 


140  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

That  lady  was  gazing  at  her  as  if  she  were  some 
thing  which  interested  her,  and  which  could  not  be 
aware  of  her  rather  impersonal  inspection. 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  dictation,"  said  Mrs.  Dar- 
rah  ;  "  besides,  I  never  compose  rapidly.  Let  me  see 
your  handwriting,  please.  Show  me  what  you  have 
written." 

"  But  I  haven't  written  anything." 

"  Oh  yes,  that  is  true.  I  cannot  decide  how  to  be 
gin.  This  is  the  first  chapter,  you  know.  So  much 
depends  upon  the  first  chapter.  You  see,  I  have  writ 
ten  a  novel  of  philosophy,  a  novel  of  passion,  and  now 
I  am  going  to  begin  a  novel  of  sentiment ;  and  senti 
ment  gives  one  quite  a  scope.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Miss  Gerry  ?" 

Salome  did  not  dare  to  lay  down  her  pen  ;  so  she 
dipped  it  again  in  the  ink. 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?"  repeated  Mrs.  Darrah. 

The  girl  turned  towards  her  companion. 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  what  sentiment  is,"  she 
replied,  deprecatingly. 

The  woman's  face  brightened.  She  sat  upright 
again. 

"Oh,  that  is  delightful!''  she  exclaimed.  "Oblige 
me  by  handing  my  note-book — the  one  bound  in  blue. 
Thanks.  And  my  stylo.  Thanks  again.  The  idea ! 
a  young  girl  not  to  know  what  sentiment  is !  But  I 
thought  your  face  was  unusual.  You  are  probably  an 
embodiment  of  sentiment,  only  you  can't  define  the 
word.  How  suggestive  !  And  with  your  face  !  If  I 
can  only  work  this  out !  But,  then,  no  wonder  you 
can't  define  the  word— nobody  can.  It  means  every 
thing.  It  is  the  atmosphere  of  life.  Without  it  every 
thing  would  be  but  an  arid  desert.  It  is — " 


"MATERIAL"  141 

Mrs.  Darrah  had  been  writing  rapidly  all  the  time 
she  had  been  talking.  She  now  ceased  speaking,  but 
continued  to  write  for  a  moment. 

Then  she  shut  the  little  book,  and  pressed  the  top 
of  her  pen  thoughtfully  against  her  chin. 

Salome's  face  was  set  in  the  utmost  solemnity ;  and 
this  solemnity  was  becoming  quite  real.  Whether  this 
woman  were  deep  or  shallow  was  not,  perhaps,  abso 
lutely  apparent;  but  the  girl  felt  that  she  was  sin 
cere.  She  made  up  her  mind  to  ask  Miss  Nunally  for 
one  of  her  aunt's  books.  In  her  ignorance  she  felt 
that  one  of  these  books  would  give  the  key  to  the  writ 
er's  character.  She  was  asking  herself  whether  she 
should  first  choose  the  novel  of  philosophy  or  the 
novel  of  passion,  when  Mrs.  Darrah  broke  the  silence 
by  saying : 

"  You  are  so  suggestive,  Miss  Gerry.  Did  any  one 
ever  tell  you  that  before  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!" 

Salome  hardly  knew  whether  to  resent  this  remark 
or  to  be  amused  by  it ;  but  she  made  no  other  re 
sponse. 

She  dipped  her  pen  in  the  ink.  She  was  afraid 
that  Mrs.  Darrah  might  suddenly  begin  to  dictate, 
and  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  put  her  pen  in  the 
inkstand  after  the  first  sentence  was  spoken. 

Mrs.  Darrah  again  leaned  back  and  again  closed 
her  eyes.  The  girl  suspected  that  this  was  the  atti 
tude  in  which  the  authoress  would  eventually  compose ; 
and  by  this  time  Salome  was  longing  to  know  what  the 
dictation  would  be. 

But  the  lady  immediately  opened  her  eyes  ;  those 
eyes,  though  small,  were  very  bright,  in  that  kind  of 
way  in  which  a  bird's  eyes  are  bright. 


142  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  I  find  I  am  changing  my  mind  about  this  novel," 
she  explained.  "  I'm  not  sure  that  I  shall  begin  it  to 
day.  Let  us  converse  for  a  while.  You  understand, 
Miss  Gerry,  that  I  shall  pay  you  just  the  same  wheth 
er  you  write  or  not.  It  is  your  time,  of  course,  which 
is  valuable.  Let  us  settle  the  terms.  I  want  you  to 
get  here  at  nine  every  morning  except  Wednesday  and 
Saturday.  On  those  days  I  give  myself  to  society — 
that's  what  I  call  it ;  but  I  hate  society,  really.  I  want 
you  to  stay  until  after  lunch.  You  will  lunch  with  me 
in  my  own  rooms  here.  I  don't  go  down  for  that 
meal  —  it  worries  me.  I  will  pay  you  ten  dollars  a 
week.  Does  that  suit  you  ?" 

Salome  laid  her  pen  down.  She  was  going  to  clasp 
her  hands,  but  it  occurred  to  her  that  that  gesture 
might  seem  theatrical. 

She  turned  towards  Mrs.  Darrah,  who  could  not 
help  murmuring  : 

"  Certainly  you  are  suggestive.  I  have  never  seen 
a  girl  like  you.  And  I  thought  I  had  seen  them  all." 

"Will  it  suit  me?"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "  It  is  too 
much.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  not  earn  it.  But  I  will 
learn  shorthand  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Very  well.  But  it  is  not  business-like  to  say  that 
any  sum  is  too  much.  Write  a  few  sentences  and  let 
me  see  your  handwriting." 

Salome  eagerly  obeyed.  Then  she  carried  the 
sheet  of  paper  to  Mrs.  Darrah.  The  girl  wrote  an 
upright,  clear  hand,  with  no  flourish. 

"  I  have  one  accomplishment,"  she  said,  shyly,  "  or, 
rather,  it  is  almost  a  gift.  I  can  imitate  any  hand 
with  very  little  effort." 

"  Ah,"  indifferently. 

Mrs.  Darrah  absently  put  her  pen  to  the  paper  and 


"MATERIAL  143 

wrote  one  of  her  favorite  quotations.  It  was  that 
sentence  in  which  St.  Augustine  says  to  God : 

"  Thou  hast  counselled  a  better  course  than  Thou 
hast  permitted." 

Salome's  eyes  kindled.     She  bent  forward. 

"  Who  said  that  ?"  she  asked,  quickly.  "  That  is 
true.  I  have  felt  that ;  yes,  I  have  felt  that.  But  I 
did  not  know  any  one  else  was  so  wicked  as  to  feel  it 
about  God.  Who  was  it,  Mrs.  Darrah  ?" 

"  It  was  St.  Augustine,"  with  amused  regard  upon 
the  girl. 

"  And  I  know  that  St.  Augustine  was  so  good," 
sighing  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,  certainly.  You  see  you  are  not  alone  in 
your  wickedness,  Miss  Gerry.  However  wicked  you 
are,  or  however  good  you  are,  you  will  find  that  some 
body  else  has  been  just  as  good  and  just  as  wicked. 
There  is  no  originality  left ;  sin  is  no  longer  orig 
inal." 

Salome  listened.  Then  she  took  the  sheet  of  paper 
to  her  desk,  and  in  a  moment  she  carried  it  again  to 
Mrs.  Darrah.  Under  that  lady's  writing  she  had 
placed  a  copy. 

"  In  my  next  attempt  you  could  not  tell  which  was 
your  own,"  she  said.  "And  I'm  often  tempted  to 
copy  hands.  It's  no  good,  though.  Only  it  some 
times  amuses  me.  I  often  write  to  father  so  that  he 
doesn't  know  whether  the  letter  is  from  mother  or 
me.  Oh,"  forgetting  her  resolve  to  be  very  proper, 
"  how  glad  father  will  be  that  you  let  me  work  for 
you.  But,  Mrs.  Darrah,  really  you  must  see  that  I 
earn  my  money." 

"  You  are  earning  it  now." 

"  Now  ?     I  am  only  talking  now." 


144  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

"  Miss  Gerry,  do  you  object  to  being  used  as  ma 
terial  ?" 

Plainly  the  girl  did  not  understand  the  question. 
But  Mrs.  Darrah  would  not  explain.  Instead,  she 
leaned  back  and  closed  her  eyes  again.  She  wished 
to  shut  in  an  idea  that  had  just  come  to  her.  She 
would  have  explained  that  ideas  were  so  rare  that 
one  was  justified  in  doing  almost  anything  for  the 
sake  of  capturing  one. 

Salome  sat  in  her  chair  by  the  desk. 

She  sat  in  perfect  quiet  lest  she  might  disturb  her 
employer.  She  had  never,  to  her  knowledge,  seen  an 
authoress  before,  and  she  hardly  knew  what  to  ex 
pect  of  one. 

She  silently  examined  the  specimen  of  author-craft 
before  her  now.  Did  they  all  have  such  little  dried-up 
faces,  with  such  lines  about  the  mouth  and  eyes  ? 
And  did  their  eyes  have  a  way  of  diving  into  one  ? 
And  what  was  it  to  be  "  material  ?" 

Could  it  be  possible — here  Salome  started  some 
what  ;  no,  of  course  it  could  not  be  possible — that 
Mrs.  Darrah  had  meant  that  she  wished  to  make  use 
of  her,  Salome  Gerry,  in  a  novel  ?  That  would  be 
quite  ridiculous. 

The  silence  and  the  quiet  lasted  so  long  that  the 
girl  suspected  that  Mrs.  Darrah  had  gone  to  sleep, 
and  she  was  becoming  sleepy  herself,  when  the  lady, 
without  the  slightest  warning,  opened  her  eyes  as  if 
they  had  only  been  closed  for  an  instant,  and  said, 

"We  will  begin  now,  if  you  please." 

And  again  Salome  put  her  pen  in  the  ink,  and  this 
time  the  dictation  really  began. 

To  the  girl's  great  surprise  she  found  she  was  in 
terested  in  the  words  she  was  writing:.  She  felt  sure 


"MATERIAL"  145 

that  it  was  the  beginning  of  a  novel,  and  it  must  be 
here  in  St.  Augustine.  And  she  wondered  if  she  were 
going  to  care  for  that  man  who  was  described  as  hav 
ing  a  face  which  seemed  to  be  all  profile. 

She  hurried  on  and  on.  Her  pen  flew  over  the  pa 
per.  And  underneath  all  her  thoughts  was  the  re 
solve  that  she  Avould  begin  that  very  day  to  study 
shorthand.  All  that  was  said  besides  the  dictation 
were  the  words  • 

"  Have  you  that  ?" 

"Yes." 

Two  hours  later,  Salome,  having  lunched  alone 
with  Mrs.  Darrah  on  viands  whose  names  she  did  not 
know,  but  whose  substance  she  enjoyed,  was  going 
along  one  of  the  galleries  of  the  hotel  preparatory  to 
descending  to  the  main  entrance. 

She  thought  she  had  never  felt  so  exhilarated  and 
happy  in  her  life.  And  this  building,  with  its  Span 
ish  suggestiveness  and  rich  decorations  —  how  she 
could  enjoy  a  life  which  gave  her  such  things.  She 
was  dimly  conscious  of  something  awakening  in  her 
which  called  for  these  surroundings — something  more 
than  the  mere  superficial  liking  of  a  girl  who  for  the 
first  time  becomes  acquainted  with  the  sumptuous  in 
this  world. 

Life  should  not  be  bare  and  rigid  and  austere. 
Life  should  be  full  of  color  and  enjoyment.  What 
was  that  mysterious  and  elusive  thing  called  happi 
ness  ?  Pleasure,  at  least,  might  be  attainable. 

She  was  feeling  this  rather  than  thinking  it,  aware 
of  many  hitherto  undreamed-of  possibilities  that 
might  enter  into  the  experience  of  human  beings, 
when  some  one  touched  her  softly  on  the  shoul 
der. 


146  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

It  was  Portia  Nunally,  who  was  now  just  going 
down  to  her  lunch. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "and  what  do  you  think  of  the 
authoress  ?" 

Salome  hesitated.     "  She  has  been  very  kind." 

"  That,  of  course,  since  you  are  what  you  are. 
But  tell  me,"  drawing  still  nearer,  "  does  she  think 
you  are  material  ?" 

Salome's  eyes  drooped  quickly. 

"  She  said  she  thought  she  could  use  me,"  she  an 
swered,  in  a  very  low  tone. 

Miss  Nunally  clapped  her  hands  gently.  Salome 
moved  a  step  away  and  averted  her  face. 

"I  predicted  to  Mr.  Moore  just  now  that  she 
would  use  you,  and  what  do  you  think  he  said  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  indifferently. 

"  He  said  that  he  thought  you  must  have  a  dual 
nature.  Now  that  was  a  foolish  thing  to  say,  since 
we  all  have  that ;  a  good  and  a  bad  nature.  And 
they  fight  incessantly  if  you  don't,  in  the  very  first 
place,  narcotize  the  good-nature.  Then  life  is  endur 
able,  and  you  stand  a  chance  of  having  a  good  time." 

Salome  looked  up  quickly. 

"  That  must  be  so !"  she  exclaimed,  with  startling 
earnestness. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  I've  known  that  for  a  good  many  years. 
If  you  wish  to  be  comfortable,  it  is  the  first  lesson  to 
learn.  So  I  told  Mr.  Moore.  He  said  he  didn't  be 
lieve  it.  He's  quite  strong  on  the  necessity  of  a  high 
spiritual  life.  Fancy !  And  he's  the  man,  you  know, 
who  told  you  such  lies — for  your  good — on  the  train. 
Did  you  know  his  name  is  Randolph  Moore  ?" 

"  No." 

"  It  is." 


"MATERIAL  147 

Miss  Nunally  moved  on  a  few  steps  with  Salome 
beside  her.  They  descended  the  stairs  together. 
Then,  as  they  were  about  to  part,  Portia  turned,  and 
said  : 

"  When  will  you  tell  me  why  you  never  blush  ? 
You  see  you  certainly  are  good  material  for  my  aunt. 
She  says  that  it  is  not  people  whom  we  understand 
who  stimulate  us  ;  it  is  people  who  seem  contradic 
tory,  and  whom  we  are  obliged  to  study  as  if  they 
were  puzzles.  She  knows  me  so  well  that  she  has  no 
use  in  the  world  for  me.  Ah,  here  is  Mr.  Moore  now, 
and  I  have  promised  to  present  him  to  you,  Miss 
Gerry." 

The  young  man  came  forward  with  unmistakable 
eagerness.  Salome  looked  at  him  with  an  earnestness 
which  she  never  thought  of  trying  to  conceal.  She 
was  thinking  of  what  Miss  Nunally  had  just  told  her : 
that  this  person  was  "  quite  strong  on  the  necessity 
of  a  high  spiritual  life." 

She  wondered  if  that  were  true.  Mr.  Moore  be 
gan  immediately  upon  a  subject  which  had  evidently 
been  occupying  his  mind. 

"  I've  wanted  to  meet  you  so  much,  Miss  Gerry, 
and  be  introduced  properly,  you  know.  Are  you  go 
ing  ?  Do  let  me  walk  with  you  a  little  way." 

Miss  Nunally  hurried  on  down  the  stairs.  She 
waved  her  hand  at  them,  and  turned  into  the  dining- 
room. 

The  two  went  on  along  King  Street. 

Although  Moore  had  so  much  to  say,  he  did  not 
speak  until  they  reached  the  Plaza.  Then  he  looked 
at  his  companion.  His  face  was  full  of  a  softened 
light. 

He  was  thinking  that  he  had  hardly  known  that  he 


148  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

had  longed  so  strongly  to  see  this  girl.  He.  had 
been  occupied  with  business  and  pleasure.  He  had 
been  down  to  Tampa  and  up  the  St.  Johns,  and  now 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  thinking  of  Salome 
Gerry  every  moment  since  he  had  seen  her. 

He  had  come  to  St.  Augustine  with  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Darrah,  and  that  lady  had  made  much  of  him,  as 
nearly  every  one  did.  And  Miss  Nunally  had  been 
uncommonly  interesting.  Indeed,  he  had  come  back 
now  to  this  little  city  for  the  second  time  because  he 
should  see  Miss  Nunally.  He  lived  up  quite  fully  to 
the  conviction  that  a  man  should  never  avoid  an  at 
tractive  woman. 

But  just  at  present  he  was  sure  that  in  the  last  few 
weeks  he  had  thought  of  nothing  but  Salome  Gerry. 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  have  forgiven  me  !"  he  exclaimed 
at  last,  his  voice  thrilling  on  the  words. 

"  Forgiven  you  ?"  questioned  Salome. 

"  Yes  ;  don't  you  remember  ?  For  deceiving  you 
about  the  sleeper  and  all  that.  I  can't  forget  how 
you  looked  when  you  knew  I  hadn't  been  quite— 
quite  on  the  square,  you  know.  But  do  believe  me 
when  I  tell  you  I'm  truthful.  You've  no  idea  how 
tired  you  looked.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  couldn't 
endure  to  think  of  you  as  sitting  up  all  night  in  that 
hideous  car.  Now,  won't  you  forgive  me  ?" 

The  two  had  stopped  as  by  a  common  impulse  when 
they  had  entered  the  park. 

Salome  said  now  that  she  would  forgive  Mr.  Moore ; 
that  it  was  not  a  matter  of  any  importance ;  and  that 
he  had  been  very  kind. 

Then  she  began  to  walk  towards  Marine  Street. 
She  was  impatient  to  tell  her  mother  about  her  engage 
ment  to  write  for  Mrs.  Darrah. 


"MATERIAL  149 

The  young  man  kept  beside  her. 

"  Don't  send  me  away,  then,"  he  urged,  keeping  step 
with  her.  "Let  me  go  with  you  for  a  little,  and  let 
me  call  on  you.  Surely  your  mother  would  receive 
me." 

Salome  laughed.  She  was  thinking  of  the  house  on 
Mr.  Job  Maine's  truck  farm. 

"But  you  wouldn't  care  to  have  me  call,  Miss 
Gerry  ?"  asked  Moore,  hardly  knowing  how  to  inter 
pret  the  girl's  laugh,  and  feeling  somehow  repulsed 
by  it. 

"No,"  she  answered;  "I  shouldn't  like  to  have  you 
come." 

Then,  seeing  the  expression  of  pain  which  came  to 
the  young  man's  face,  she  hastened  to  say  : 

"You've  no  idea  how  we  are  living.  It's  a  wretched 
place,  but  being  in  Florida  we  are  going  to  put  up 
with  it.  Anything  for  the  sake  of  being  here,  on  ac 
count  of  my  health." 

Moore's  face  lightened  with  boyish  happiness. 

"  And  is  that  all  the  reason  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I'm  going  to  walk  out  with  you  now  and  see 
your  mother.  She  was  kinder  to  me  than  you  were, 
Miss  Gerry.  And  how  much  better  you  look.  You 
have  no  idea  how  glad  I  am  to  find  you." 

Moore's  eyes  shone.  His  whole  face  was  radiant. 
His  glance  was  constantly  seeking  his  companion's. 
He  was  telling  himself  over  and  over  that  this  girl 
was  charming — charming. 

She  did  not  look  precisely  as  she  had  done  on  the 
train.  That  was  because  she  seemed  now  so  much 
stronger  in  health,  he  supposed. 

The  two  talked  of  a  thousand  things.     Moore  had 


150  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

never  felt  himself  so  brilliant.  Everything  he  said 
had  an  air  of  cleverness,  he  thought.  He  had  hardly 
known  before  that  he  was  such  a  clever  youth  ;  that 
his  ideas  were  so  lucid,  and  that  he  could  express  him 
self  so  much  to  the  point. 

Not  that  he  really  thought  of  himself  at  all.  He 
did  not  think  of  anything.  He  was  like  one  floating  in 
some  atmosphere  which  both  exhilarated  and  soothed. 

But  he  was  not  in  the  least  surprised.  Nothing  in 
the  way  of  good-fortune  could  surprise  Moore.  Thus 
far  he  had  had  most  things  he  wanted. 

He  did  not  fail  to  learn  the  days  when  Salome 
would  be  with  Mrs.  Darrah  and  when  she  left  the 
hotel.  He  said  business  would  keep  him  in  the  vicin 
ity  a  week  or  two.  He  wasn't  staying  at  the  Ponce ; 
oh  no,  poor  people  didn't  go  there.  He  felt  quite 
overwhelmed  at  venturing  even  to  call  there.  He 
laughed  much  as  he  talked.  This  laugh  seemed  to 
be  a  sort  of  escape  for  the  abounding  spirits  that 
bubbled  up  in  him.  He  felt  half  drunk  with  some 
thing,  he  knew  not  what.  In  his  own  mind  he  said  it 
was  the  climate  ;  but  he  must  own  that  the  climate 
had  never  affected  him  in  this  way  before. 

So  two  weeks  passed.  He  had  only  missed  three 
days  in  that  time  when  he  had  not  walked  out  the 
two  miles  through  the  sand  and  the  dwarf  palmetto 
with  Salome. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  the  second  week,  when  Sa 
lome,  coming  into  the  city  in  the  morning,  went  to 
the  post-office  as  usual.  She  found  a  letter  from  her 
father.  It  was  addressed  to  her  mother,  but  she  al 
ways  opened  her  father's  letters.  She  opened  this  one, 
leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  office  as  she  did  so.  It 
was  not  long.  It  began  abruptly  : 


"MATERIAL  151 

"  I  haven't  let  you  know  that  I  couldn't  keep  up  my 
interest  on  the  mortgage  on  the  farm.  I  haven't  paid 
it  for  three  years,  and  now  you  know  I've  borrowed 
$400  more  on  the  east  wood-lot.  I  could  have  stag 
gered  along  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Salome's  sickness. 
But  I  don't  begrudge  all  that  has  cost.  No  matter 
what  comes  if  she  gets  well.  But  it's  tough.  Uncle 
John  is  going  to  foreclose.  He  says  he  can't  afford 
not  to.  We  are  under  his  thumb.  If  I  had  $800 
within  a  week  I  could  weather  it — for  now.  The  old 
place  '11  be  sold.  It's  belonged  to  the  Gerry's  for  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years.  I'd  rather  die — well,  I  ain't 
lucky.  •  Don't  wish  you  hadn't  married  me,  Salome. 
And  don't  come  home.  That  would  only  make  things 
worse.  Keep  this  from  the  child.  She  needn't  know 
it  till  she  comes — home  I  was  going  to  say — till  she 
comes  North  again  —  unless  some  devilish  meddler 
writes  it  to  her.  You  needn't  worry  about  me.  Only 
let  the  child  get  well." 

Salome  leaned  yet  more  heavily  against  the  wall. 
She  read  the  letter  a  second  time.  She  wished  people 
would  not  walk  in  and  out  of  the  place  as  they  did. 
It  confused  her.  And  she  must  think.  It  was  be 
cause  of  her.  Eight  hundred  dollars.  Within  a  week. 

She  folded  the  sheet  of  paper  and  carefully  put  it 
in  its  envelope.  She  walked  quickly  to  the  Ponce. 

Mrs.  Darrah  had  a  headache,  but  she  told  the  girl 
to  sit  down  at  the  desk  and  wait  a  half-hour,  when 
she  might  join  her. 

So  Salome  sat  down  alone  in  the  sitting-room. 

Mrs.  Darrah's  note-books  and  her  check-book  were 
lying  there  with  sheets  of  MS.  and  blank  paper. 

Salome  immediately  took  up  the  check-book.  She 
turned  its  leaves  swiftly  through  her  fingers. 


152  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Then,  without  the  least  hesitation,  she  filled  in  a 
check  for  $800,  and  signed  Florence  Darrah  to  it,  ap 
parently  in  Florence  Darrah's  own  hand. 

She  went  to  the  door  of  the  lady's  bedroom  and 
said  that  she  would  go  the  post-office,  but  would  re 
turn  directly. 

She  stepped  back  to  the  desk  and  wrote  a  note  to 
her  father,  saying : 

"  It  happens  that  a  friend  who  is  rich  will  loan  us 
this  money.  So  it  will  be  all  right,  and  the  farm  need 
not  be  sold.  There'll  be  no  hurry  about  the  pay.  But 
I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  attend  to  that.  Dear  father, 
I  am  getting  so  well,  and  I  am  earning.  Don't  tell 
mother  this,  and  I  shall  not  show  her  your  letter.  I 
read  it  first." 

In  five  minutes  the  letter  with  the  check  was  posted, 
and  Salome  sat  waiting  at  the  desk. 

She  was  telling  herself  that  she  was  very  glad  she 
had  sent  that  check. 


IX 

" FOR    LOVE  " 

GEORGE  ELIOT  somewhere  says  that  it  is  the  habit 
ual  restraint  or  indulgence  of  years  that  determines 
what  one  will  do  in  some  sudden  stress  of  temptation. 
And  so  indeed  it  is  ordinarily.  But  there  are  some 
natures  in  which  there  is  a  lurking  power  that  has 
slept,  but  that  awakens  with  an  unexpected  puissance 
that  seems  to  make  an  entirely  different  person  of  one 
whom  we  have  thought  we  knew  perfectly.  Some 
phases  of  character  lie  dormant  for  years.  There  are 
those  whose  consciences  are  long  keyed  up  to  such 
painful  activity,  such  morbid  sensitiveness,  that  the 
reaction  is  inevitable, and  sometimes  deeply  disastrous. 
For  a  reaction  often  brings  more  or  less  of  reckless 
ness  of  mood  if  not  of  deed.  If  highly  strung  natures 
reach  heights,  they  sometimes  reach  depths  also  of 
which  the  commonplace  soul  has  positively  no  con 
ception. 

When  Salome  returned  from  posting  that  note  and 
its  enclosure  to  her  father,  she  sat  for  half  an  hour 
in  Mrs.  Darrah's  sitting -room  awaiting  that  lady's 
pleasure. 

She  had  forged  that  name  with  as  complete  sudden 
ness  and  absence  of  calculation  as  she  would  have 
snatched  her  father's  hand  from  burning  coals  if  her 
father  had  been  powerless  to  do  it  for  himself. 


1 54  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

And  now  as  the  moments  went  by  she  was  aware 
only  of  a  thankfulness  that  she  had  done  so.  She 
was  not  conscious  of  any  clearness  of  thought  as  yet. 
In  fact,  she  was  hardly  thinking  at  all.  She  was 
vaguely  picturing  to  herself  her  father's  gratitude  and 
joy  when  he  should  receive  that  letter. 

It  had  seemed  to  her  that  the  thing  must  be  done 
instantly.  She  had  no  time  to  arrange  to  ask  anything 
of  anybody.  And,  besides,  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to 
ask  favors. 

She  hardly  knew  how  cold  her  hands  were  or  how 
her  eyes  stung  with  an  unaccustomed  heat.  She  was 
absently  writing  meaningless  words  on  a  sheet  of  paper 
before  her.  Her  mind  seemed  entirely  filled  with 
wondering  whether  Mrs.  Darrah  would  care  to  dictate 
this  morning.  On  several  days  the  whole  of  the  time 
had  been  taken  up  in  conversation — that  is,  Mrs. 
Darrah  would  lounge  among  her  pillows  and  ask 
questions  of  the  girl  who  sat  in  front  of  her.  At 
some  of  the  replies  she  would  seize  her  note -book 
with  an  exclamation  of  delight  and  make  an  entry 
in  it. 

"  It  is  not  so  much  that  I  must  get  on  with  my 
novel  as  that  I  must  study  you,"  she  once  remarked. 
"You  needn't  shrink,"  as  Salome  made  a  slight  move 
ment ;  "you  must  be  studied.  It  is  the  penalty  you 
pay  for  having  that  kind  of  a  face." 

"  But  what  kind  of  a  face  do  you  mean  ?"  asked 
Salome,  with  some  distress  in  her  tone.  She  felt  a 
little  as  if  a  process  of  vivisection  were  going  on  and 
that  she  was  the  subject. 

"That's  just  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Darrah,  with  apparent 
satisfaction.  "  I  can't  tell  you  in  the  least  what  kind 
it  is  ;  it  is  several  kinds  of  a  face.  Severe  and  indul- 


"FOR  LOVE  155 

gent,  reckless  and  discreet.  You  see  I  have  no  idea 
how  to  classify  you." 

"Then  please  don't  try  to  classify  me,  Mrs.  Darrah. 
I'm  just  a  common  sort  of  a  girl.  I  used  to  have 
times  of  rigid  self-examination,  but  I've  given  that  all 
up  since  I  got  well.  I  suppose  that  goes  with  illness, 
don't  you  ?"  looking  with  some  eagerness  at  her  com 
panion,  who  was  watching  her  intently. 

"You  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  "that 

"'When  the  devil  was  ill, 

The  devil  a  monk  would  be  ; 
When  the  devil  was  well, 

The  devil  a  monk  was  he.'  " 

Salome  laughed.  She  began  to  be  aware  now  that 
she  was  greatly  excited. 

"Yes,  that  must  be  what  I  mean,  though  I  hate  to 
think  so.  Now  as  I  look  back  upon  my  life  I  think  I 
was  very  good.  But  I  didn't  think  so  then.  I  thought 
I  was  a  vile,  sinful  creature.  I  used  to  find  such 
wicked  thoughts  when  I  groped  round  in  my  mind.  I 
did  really  and  truly  want  to  be  a  high  spiritual  being, 
and  I  was  always  what  they  called  'rather  feeble.'  I 
wasn't  well.  Now  I  am  well  I  don't  think  at  all  about 
being  a  high  spiritual  being." 

Salome's  eyes  deepened  as  she  went  on.  She  was 
very  earnest,  for  her  lips  were  slightly  tremulous,  and 
there  was  a  white  light  all  over  her  pale  face. 

Suddenly  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  took  a  step 
towards  Mrs.  Darrah.  She  pressed  the  palms  of  her 
hands  softly  together  after  a  manner  which  she  had. 

The  small  and  sparkling  eyes  of  the  elder  woman 
were  watching  her  keenly.  Mrs.  Darrah's  pulses  quick 
ened  a  little  as  she  met  the  girl's  gaze. 


156  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

But  as  suddenly  as  she  had  started  Salome  turned 
away.  She  walked  back  to  the  desk  and  mechanically 
took  up  her  pen. 

With  her  face  thus  averted  she  said  that  if  Mrs. 
Darrah  did  not  wish  to  dictate,  perhaps  she  would  let 
her  go  home. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  lady.     "  But  come  here." 

Salome  came  to  Mrs.  Darrah's  couch.  Her  hands 
were  taken  a  moment,  then  dropped. 

"Ah,  I  knew  they  were  cold.  I  should  like  to  be 
very  kind  to  you,  Miss  Gerry.  I  am  a  lonely  woman, 
and  I  have  a  great  deal  of  money.  You  don't  look  as 
if  you  were  mercenary.  If  I  ever  get  Portia  married 
— well,  well,  run  along  now.  Come  to-morrow.  And 
don't  work  too  hard  at  the  shorthand.  We  do  very 
well  as  we  are,  eh  ?" 

Salome  left  the  room.  She  forgot  that  she  had  said 
she  must  go  home.  As  she  went  down  the  stairs  she 
heard  Miss  Nunally's  voice,  and  then  a  man's  laugh 
and  quick  rejoinder.  The  sounds  grated  on  her.  She 
hurried  down  across  the  Plaza  and  did  not  stop  until 
she  had  reached  the  fort.  She  sat  there  on  the  water 
battery.  She  hardly  noticed  whether  others  were  there 
or  not. 

The  air  blew  softly  from  the  south.  The  island  op 
posite  looked  asleep.  The  small  craft  in  the  Matanzas 
glided  silently  back  and  forth  almost  at  the  girl's  feet. 

"  I'm  "So  glad  I  did  it,"  she  whispered  at  last. 
"  Something  had  to  be  done  immediately.  Miss  Nu- 
nally  says  that  Mrs.  Darrah  is  generous,  but  that  she 
thinks  a  great  deal  of  her  money.  I  am  very  glad  I 
did  it.  When  I  tell  Mrs.  Darrah — for  of  course  I  shall 
tell  her—" 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence.     The  air  was  so 


"  FOR    LOVE  157 

lovely,  the  environment  was  so  beautiful  and  still,  so 
novel  to  her ;  she  had  been  so  starved  for  just  such 
an  atmosphere  for  body  and  soul  that  she  forgot  to 
try  to  finish  her  sentence.  To  certain  kinds  of  sensi 
tive  natures  there  is  an  opiate  as  well  as  an  invigora- 
tion  in  surroundings. 

But  at  last  the  girl  rose.  As  she  paced  slowly  along 
by  the  fort  walls,  turning  her  face  more  fully  to  the 
breeze,  she  glanced  about  her  as  one  glances  who  is 
thinking  of  some  one.  She  gained  the  sea-wall  and 
walked  upon  it,  now  moving  absently,  her  eyes  cast 
down. 

But  she  had  seen  that  some  one.  Up  there,  among 
the  saddle-horses  standing  for  hire,  was  a  figure  she 
was  not  likely  to  mistake. 

But  Moore  probably  would  not  see  her.  This  was 
earlier  than  she  generally  left  the  Ponce,  and  he  would 
not  be  looking  for  her  now. 

She  went  on  more  and  more  swiftly.  If  she  passed 
on  beyond  the  park  he  would  have  no  more  chance  to 
see  her,  and  she  would  not  look ;  she  would  hurry 
that  that  moment  of  uncertainty  might  the  sooner  be 
over.  She  would  walk  out  alone  this  morning. 

Now  she  had  almost  reached  the  barracks.  No,  he 
had  not  noticed  her.  He  would  presently  go  up  to 
the  hotel  and  lounge  about  until  the  usual  time  for 
her  to  leave  Mrs.  Darrah.  Then  would  he  be  disap 
pointed  ?  What  would  he  do  ?  Would  he  come  out 
to  the  little  log-hut  ?  Would  he  ? 

"  Ah,  Miss  Gerry,  are  you  trying  to  run  away  from 
me  ?"  cried  a  voice  close  behind  her. 

Moore  ranged  up  by  her  side,  and  bent  down  to  give 
one  eager  look  into  her  face. 

"Don't — oh,  don't — tell  me  you  were  wishing  to  es- 


158  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

cape  me !  But  then,  if  that  is  the  truth,  you  must  tell  me 
so,  and  I  shall  have  to  bear  it.  But  I  could  bear  any 
thing  better  than  that — anything  in  this  world,  Miss 
Gerry.  Do  you  know  that  ?  Tell  me,  do  you  know  it  ?" 

There  was  an  intensity  in  the  young  man's  voice 
and  face  which  heretofore  he  had  succeeded  in  re 
pressing,  in  great  measure.  But  suddenly,  at  sight  of 
Salome  now,  he  had  felt  it  to  be  a  sheer  impossibility 
to  repress  it  any  longer. 

He  glanced  about  him  impatiently. 

It  would  be  some  moments  before  they  were  out  of 
the  city  and  in  the  deep  solitude  of  the  palmetto 
scrub.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  restraint  he  had 
kept  over  himself  in  the  past  could  not  be  maintained 
for  another  instant. 

"Tell  me  !"  he  repeated,  imperatively. 

She  did  not  glance  at  him.  She  looked  out  sea 
ward  ;  and  it  was  what  appeared  to  her  companion  a 
long  time  before  she  said  : 

"  Tell  you  what  ?" 

And  still  she  did  not  look  at  him. 

He  hardly  knew  how  to  answer  her,  for  he  had  for 
gotten  precisely  what  he  had  said.  How  could  he 
remember  what  words  he  had  used  ?  Words  were 
nothing.  There  was  nothing  in  the  world  of  any 
importance  now  save  to  be  with  this  girl,  and  to  have 
her  turn  to  him  and  look  as  such  a  face  as  hers  must 
be  able  to  look. 

Moore  quickened  his  pace.  "  Do  let  us  walk 
faster  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Let  us  get  away  from  these 
streets  !  I  hate  these  streets  !'' 

Salome  obeyed.  The  two  hurried  on.  The  man 
concentrated  all  his  thoughts  apparently  upon  putting 
the  settlement  behind  them. 


"FOR  LOVE  159 

Presently  they  were  out  in  the  waste  with  only  the 
stretch  of  sand  and  of  water  ahead  of  them,  and  safely 
behind  the  towers  of  the  hotels  and  the  gray  walls  of 
the  old  houses. 

Moore  turned  impetuously.  He  put  his  hand  on 
Salome's  arm. 

"  Oh,  don't  go  on  so  fast !"  he  pleaded. 

She  smiled,  still  without  looking  at  him. 

"You  are  very  hard  to  please,"  she  responded;  and 
she  spoke  almost  in  a  flippant  tone,  as  if  such  a  tone 
might  be  a  kind  of  defence  to  her.  "  You  wanted  to 
walk  fast,  and  I  hurried.  And  now  — 

"  Now,"  interrupted  Moore  -"now  we  are  away  from 
all  those  people,  I  want  to  keep  away  from  them.  I 
want  to  be  with  you,  Salome  Gerry.  I  want  to  be 
with  you  all  my  life.  All  my  life." 

His  warm,  ardent  voice  repeated  those  words  as  if 
he  could  not  put  sufficient  meaning  into  them. 

There  was  no  reply.  Salome  was  still  hurrying  as 
well  as  she  could  through  the  sand. 

The  crows,  in  a  large  flock,  were  flying  between  her 
and  the  sun. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  of  those  birds.  She 
thought  it  was  they  who  cast  a  shadow  upon  her 
heart.  What  was  it  ?  Surely  they  could  not  do  that. 

She  gave  him  a  lustrous  look,  in  which  there  was 
something  of  fright. 

"  Did  you  see  them  ?"  she  asked. 

"  See  what  ?" 

"  The  crows.     They  went  right  over  us." 

At  this  instant  she  thought  of  the  check  that  must 
have  started  two  hours  ago  on  its  journey  North  to 
her  father.  She  was  very  glad  she  had  sent  it.  She 
would  tell  Mrs.  Darrah  by-and-by.  Not  because  she 


l6o  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

was  sorry,  or  repented,  but  because  she  did  not  know 
exactly  when  it  would  be  found  out  that  Mrs.  Darrah 
had  not  herself  signed  it.  It  would  not  be  found  out 
directly ;  she  was  quite  sure  of  that.  And  perhaps  it 
would  never  be  discovered.  Anyway,  she  would  have 
time  enough  to  consult  with  Mrs.  Darrah,  and  her 
father  would  pay  his  Uncle  John.  She  could  arrange 
somehow.  It  would  not  take  her  two  years  to  pay 
for  it,  if  there  was  any  disturbance.  Of  course,  she 
knew  vaguely  about  forgers.  But  other  forgers  did 
not  have  the  incentive  which  had  inspired  her  to  do 
the  deed.  Her  conscience  did  not  trouble  her  in  the 
least.  But  she  supposed  there  would  be  some  arrange 
ment.  She  would  speak,  perhaps  to-morrow,  to  Mrs. 
Darrah. 

But  she  wished  those  crows  had  not  sailed  over 
just  then. 

Moore  glanced  up  at  the  sky.  To  him  the  sky 
seemed  to  be  blessing  them.  He  did  not  see  the 
crows.  They  had  flown  out  across  the  river,  and  were 
preparing  to  settle  down  on  the  beach. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  superstitious,"  he  said, 
trying  to  speak  calmly. 

A  tremor  passed  through  the  girl's  frame. 

"  I  did  not  know  it,  either.     I  don't  think  I  am." 

Impelled  by  the  power  of  his  presence,  she  turned 
slowly  towards  Moore  and  looked  at  him. 

The  two  had  paused  in  their  walk.  They  were 
standing  and  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes. 

All  at  once  a  strong  vibration  shook  the  young 
man.  He  bent  towards  Salome,  but  he  did  not  touch 
her.  He  had  imagined  love  like  this.  He  had 
known  that  a  great  love  like  this  would  some  day 
overwhelm  him  in  unspeakable  rapture. 


"  FOR  LOVE"  161 

There  was  not  the  slightest  egotism  in  his  mind  or 
in  his  voice  as  he  whispered,  in  a  breathless  way : 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  love  me  !  I  know  you  love  me 
— as  I  love  you  !" 

And  the  girl  whispered  in  return  : 

"  Yes — yes  — yes." 

He  took  her  hands  and  put  them  palms  together, 
and  then  pressed  his  own  over  them,  still  keeping  his 
eyes  on  hers. 

Did  several  moments  pass  thus  ? — or  only  one  breath 
of  time  ? 

There  was  a  hoarse,  multitudinous  cry  in  the  air 
above  them. 

It  was  the  crows  coming  back  to  the  main-land. 

Again  Salome  trembled.  She  tried  to  draw  away 
from  the  grasp  which  held  her. 

"There  they  are  !"  she  exclaimed,  still  in  a  whisper. 

He  smiled  happily. 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  not  superstitious  ?" 

And  again  she  answered  : 

"  I  don't  think  I  am." 

She  glanced  at  the  stretch  of  blue  ocean  beyond 
the  island.  But  it  was  not  blue  now;  there  was  a 
haze  like  a  silver  veil  spreading  from  it  inland.  The 
air  was  warm  and  sweet. 

The  crows  had  gone  out  of  sight. 

"  We  must  go  on,"  she  said. 

"No  matter;  since  I  go  with  you,"  was  the  re 
sponse. 

The  two  walked  in  silence.  Moore  could  not  look 
at  anything  but  the  figure  by  his  side.  But  Salome 
did  not  now  look  at  him.  She  was  gazing  straight 
ahead  of  her.  There  was  a  white  splendor  on  her  face. 

"  Are  you  happy  ?" 


1 62  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

She  heard  Moore's  voice.  She  stopped  walking, 
turning  towards  him  and  clasping  her  hands. 

Instead  of  waiting  then  for  her  reply  Moore  said, 
immediately  : 

"  Do  you  know  how  happy  I  am  ?" 

"  You  look  happy,"  she  answered,  in  an  almost 
inaudible  tone. 

"  If  I  were  happier  I  could  not  breathe — I  could 
not  live,"  he  said,  with  the  extravagance  of  a  lover 
who  believes  what  he  says  and  who  knows  that  no  man 
or  woman  before  him  has  ever  fully  known  happiness. 

After  another  short  silence  Salome  said,  now  speak 
ing  with  great  rapidity  : 

"  I  have  thought  of  something  which  makes  me 
wretched." 

"No,  no!"  he  exclaimed.  "But  tell  me  what  it  is. 
I  can  drive  it  away." 

"  It  is  something  Miss  Nunally  said." 

"  Miss  Nunally  ?"  he  smiled,  incredulously.  "  What 
was  it  ?" 

"  It  was  something  like  this :  that  you  had  great 
ideas  of  a  high  spiritual  life.  Now,  have  you  ?"  with 
intense  earnestness. 

"  Yes,  I  hope  I  have.  I  mean  to  have,"  he  an 
swered.  "  I  do  try  to  live— that  is,  I  have  times  of 
trying — as  if  I  had  such  an  ideal.  But,  you  see,  a 
man  is  so  subject  to  moods  and  temptations.  But 
now  that  you  let  me  love  you,  Salome,  I  feel  as  if,  in 
deed,  I  might  be  a  far  better  man — as  if  my  striving 
might  amount  to  something.  Oh,  you  cannot  con 
ceive  what  you  are  to  me  !  You — 

"Don't!"  she  cried,  with  some  sharpness.  "You 
needn't  feel  that  way." 

"  Need  not  ?"  in  a  wondering  question. 


"FOR   LOVE"  163 

11  No,  no  !" 

"  But  why  ?" 

"  Because — you  see  it  would  not  be  fair." 

"  Not  fair?"  he  asked. 

She  appeared  to  find  some  difficulty  in  going  on. 

"  No.  Because  I — I  myself  don't  care  for  a  high 
spiritual  life." 

"Not  care  for  it?" 

Moore  was  so  perplexed  that  he  could  only  repeat 
her  words. 

"  No.  I  used  to  care,  above  everything.  I  used 
to  be  striving  for  it  all  the  time.  But  now  I  don't 
think  anything  at  all  about  it.  Now — "  she  hesitated  ; 
then  she  smiled  in  a  way  that  made  a  most  fitting 
accompaniment  to  her  words — "  now  I  want  to  have 
a  good  time  ;  I'm  tired  of  being  conscientious.  Con 
science  doesn't  go  with  this  air  and  sky.  As  Job 
Maine  says  :  '  It's  quite  a  good  deal  of  trouble '  to  be 
conscientious ;  and  you  are  not  half  as  happy,  either. 
Did  you  ever  think  the  doctrine  of  the  first  Epicure 
ans  had  some  reason  in  it,  Mr.  Moore  ?" 

When  she  ceased  speaking,  now,  Salome  laughed  a 
perfectly  care-free  and  infectious  laugh. 

Moore  joined  her.  He  did  not  in  the  least  believe 
what  she  had  just  been  saying.  And  he  did  not  be 
lieve  that  she  believed  it.  And  yet — why  should  her 
face  have  just  that  expression,  if  she  were  merely 
talking  "for  fun,"  as  he  would  have  said. 

As  for  himself,  Moore  was  extremely  well  aware 
that  a  "  high  spiritual  life  "  was  still  a  great  way  from 
him.  But  he  had  told  the  simple  truth  when  he  had 
said  he  had  seasons  of  longing  for  it  and  striving  for 
it.  He  could  not  imagine  that  any  one  could  delib 
erately  and  truthfully  say  that  he  did  not  care  for  it. 


164  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

It  was  one  of  Moore's  favorite  subjects.  He  liked  to 
talk  about  it ;  it  always  made  him  feel  better.  To 
talk  earnestly  on  this  topic  had  somewhat  of  the  effect 
of  having  made  a  notable  attempt  towards  something 
better.  He  was  not  aware  that,  while  words  are  a 
great  deal  cheaper  than  deeds,  they  yet  bring,  often 
times,  more  self-complacency  than  the  deeds  them 
selves. 

Moore  was  not  given  to  the  examination  of  his  own 
soul,  as  has  been  stated  previously  in  these  chronicles  ; 
but  it  was  a  truth  that  he  did  have  a  high  standard  of 
manly  living.  Not  that  he  always  lived  by  that 
standard,  by  any  means  ;  who  does  ?  But  he  could 
not  have  dreamed  of  denying  that  standard. 

And  he  thought  Salome  now  was  jesting  when  she 
said  she  did  not  care  for  these  things.  Of  course  she 
cared. 

The  young  man  was  not  likely  to  spend  much 
thought,  however,  on  such  subjects  just  now.  He 
could  hardly  be  said  to  think  upon  anything  as  he 
walked  by  the  girl's  side. 

It  was  now  noon  ;  one  of  those  noons  when  Florida, 
in  the  fall  or  early  winter,  forgets  that  she  is  not  real 
ly  a  tropical  country,  and  takes  to  herself  the  heats 
and  the  odors  of  those  Caribbee  isles  which  lie  not  so 
many  miles  to  the  south. 

The  air  glimmered  hotly  over  the  sand.  There  was 
very  little  wind.  In  some  pools  of  water,  that  shone 
in  the  sun,  frogs  were  piping  monotonously.  Salome 
liked  the  frog  cries.  It  was  a  sound  that  told  her.  day 
after  day  and  night  after  night,  that  there  was  no  real 
winter  in  that  land  where  she  had  come. 

When  a  mocker  flew  past  her,  and,  alighting  on  a 
tree,  sang  to  her,  her  heart  beat  with  a  kind  of  suffo- 


"FOR  LOVE"  165 

eating  joy  and  pride  in  this  world  and  in  mere  animal 
life. 

The  mocking-bird  clung  to  the  branch  of  the  wild 
orange,  and  gave  out  his  sensuous  and  yet  spirit-mov 
ing  song. 

Salome  turned  to  Moore  and  found  his  eyes  on  her 
absorbedly.  That  gaze  made  her  stammer  slightly  at 
first,  but  she  said,  with  sufficient  clearness,  speaking 
out  her  thought : 

"  We  are  given  mere  animal  life  here  ;  and  it  is  so 
lovely — so  lovely !  Now  I  don't  feel  ill  I  seem  to 
know  for  the  first  time  that  just  the  breath  of  our 
nostrils  may  be  exquisite  joy.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Mr.  Moore  ?" 

"Think  so?  I  don't  know.  I'm  not  capable  of 
thinking  to-day.  I'm  only  living." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  that's  it.  To  be  only  living,"  she  re 
turned.  "  I  hoped  you  would  understand  me.  If  I 
say  anything  like  this  to  mother  she  has  such  a 
grieved,  anxious  look  come  over  her  face  that  I  can 
not  go  on.  And  then  I've  been  brought  up  so  well  " 
— smiling  joyously — "  that  she  thinks  I  am  changed. 
And  I  am — I  am." 

The  girl  again  stopped  in  her  walk.  She  stretched 
out  her  arms  with  a  gesture  of  happiness  and  aban 
donment  to  the  delight  of  the  atmosphere  and  the  sun 
light,  and  the  mood  that  was  upon  her. 

Moore,  gazing  at  her,  wished  that  her  arms  had 
been  extended  towards  him.  But  something  held 
him  back  from  touching  her. 

"  Florida  has  come  into  my  heart,"  she  said,  fer 
vently. 

Her  arms  dropped  to  her  side,  and  she  began  to 
walk  on  again. 


1 66  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Moore  took  her  hand  and  held  it  closely,  keeping 
step  with  her.  Many  warm  words  came  to  his  lips  to 
be  spoken,  but  he  did  not  utter  them.  It  was  enough 
to  be  walking  thus  with  her.  Why  should  he  want  to 
speak  ? 

Once  she  turned  towards  him  her  pale  face,  which 
wore  its  look  of  exalted  enthusiasm. 

Then  he  put  his  quick  question  again  : 

"  Are  you  happy  ?" 

"  How  stupid  you  are  !"  she  cried,  speaking  lightly, 
lest  she  might  reveal  too  much. 

"  But  tell  me  !"  he  urged. 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  will  have  it :  I  am  wretched  ;  I 
am  miserable." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  quickly,  and  pressing  nearer  her. 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"  Then  if  you  do  not  credit  what  I  say,  you  will  not 
believe  me  when  I  tell  you  I  am  happy." 

"  Try  me  and  see." 

Now  she  laughed. 

"  No,  no ;  I  will  not  risk  it.  Let  us  hurry.  I  must  tell 
my  mother.  She  likes  you,  Mr.  Moore ;  you  are  one 
whom  everybody  likes.  How  strange  that  must  be. 
And  I — Mr.  Moore,  I  wish  to  say  something  to  you." 

The  girl  stopped  again  in  her  walk.  She  had  with 
drawn  her  hand  from  her  companion. 

"I  am  listening,"  he  said,  "and  I  wish  to  suggest 
to  you  that  you  might  call  me  something  besides  Mr. 
Moore." 

She  made  no  reply  to  this  remark.  He  immediate 
ly  asked : 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  say  to  me  ?" 

He  was  wondering  how  he  could  ever  have  thought 
himself  interested  really  in  anything  else  in  the  world. 


"FOR  LOVE"  167 

"  If  you  will  promise  to  stand  perfectly  quiet,  and 
not  to  come  near  me — 

"  Yes,  I  promise,"  he  said.  There  was  a  soft 
sparkle  in  her  eyes  ;  and  there  was  a  tremble  upon 
her  smiling  lips. 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  movement  full  of  in 
describable  fervor. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  then  her  eyes  instantly 
drooped  below  his  gaze.  She  was  silent. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  ?"  he  asked. 

{i  I  thought  I  could  say  it  to  you,"  she  answered, 
after  a  pause.  "  But  I'm  afraid  I  cannot." 

"  You  must !  You  must !"  not  moving  from  his 
position  a  few  feet  from  her. 

Her  eyes  were  turned  downward.  She  put  her 
clasped  hands  suddenly  up  to  her  heart. 

"  I  love  you  so — I  love  you  so  !"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Salome!" 

Moore  made  one  uncontrollable  step  forward  •,  at 
the  same  time  the  girl  stepped  back. 

"Remember  your  promise,"  she  whispered.  "You 
are  not  to  come  near  me." 

"  Oh,  Salome !"  he  said  again ;  and  he  added,  pas 
sionately,  under  his  breath,  "  My  darling  !  my  love  !" 

She  made  no  response.  After  an  instant  she  began 
to  walk  on  so  rapidly  that  she  had  the  appearance 
of  running  away.  Moore  kept  beside  her.  He  per 
ceived  that  she  did  not  wish  him  to  speak,  so,  though 
it  was  very  difficult  for  him,  he  remained  silent. 

After  a  while  they  came  within  sight  of  Job  Maine's 
estate.  There  were  the  two  miserable  hovels.  There 
was  the  stretch  of  sand  where  Mr.  Maine  ploughed, 
and  where  he  raised  his  truck.  There  were  a  few 
cabbages  standing  desolately  on  their  stalks  and  try- 


1 68  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

ing  feebly  to  "head  up,"  and  some  sweet-potato 
vines  straggled  about  discouraged.  Mr.  Maine  had 
been  aiming  to  do  some  hoeing  for  more  than  two 
weeks,  and  he  was  still  aiming. 

His  figure  was  visible  sitting  on  the  tree  trunk.  A 
puff  of  smoke  sometimes  passed  from  his  dry,  white 
lips.  He  saw  the  two  coming  along  the  path.  He 
took  the  trouble  to  move  a  very  little,  so  that  he  might 
have  a  better  opportunity  to  gaze  at  them.  In  thus 
gazing  he  let  the  fire  in  his  pipe  go  out.  He  sucked 
strongly  at  the  blackened  clay  tube  for  a  moment,  his 
thin  cheeks  hollowing,  and  his  whole  face  contorted. 
Then  he  removed  the  article  from  his  mouth. 

"  Burn  !"  he  said,  sullenly  and  slowly.  "  I  ain't 
had  half  my  smoke  out." 

He  looked  towards  his  cabin,  thinking  to  call  his 
wife  to  bring  him  a  coal  from  the  hearth  ;  but  no  one 
was  visible.  He  put  the  pipe  in  his  pocket. 

The  path,  such  as  it  was,  wound  among  the  stumps 
of  pine-trees  directly  by  where  he  sat. 

Mr.  Job  Maine  did  not  seem  to  be  in  a  good-humor 
to-day.  In  the  morning  he  had  asked  Mrs.  Gerry  to 
advance  him  another  month's  rent.  As  she  had  al 
ready  paid  ahead  for  two  months,  she  had  refused  to 
grant  her  landlord  this  favor. 

He  was  thinking  now  that  he  should  like  to  go  and 
tell  that  Yankee  woman  to  pack  up  her  duds  and 
tramp.  Still,  Mr.  Maine  had  sense  enough  to  know 
that  she  probably  would  neither  pack  nor  tramp  at 
present ;  and  it  was  considerable  trouble  to  tell  her. 

He  had  already  brought  in  a  bill  of  three  dollars  for 
the  night  and  clay  in  which  Mrs.  Gerry  and  her  daugh 
ter  had  remained  under  Mr.  Maine's  own  roof,  receiv 
ing:  what  he  had  at  their  first  meeting  called  "  South- 


"  FOR  LOVE"  169 

ern  horspitality."  At  the  end  of  that  time  Mrs.  Gerry 
had  absolutely  driven  him  forth  to  Augustine  for  her 
trunk.  She  had  said  that  another  twenty-four  hours 
spent  with  Mr.  Maine  and  his  wife  would  kill  her,  even 
if  her  daughter  survived. 

And  Mr.  Maine  had  charged  one  dollar  for  getting 
the  trunk,  and  one  dollar  for  allowing  Mrs.  Gerry  to 
sit  in  the  cart  with  him  while  the  mule  took  them  by 
imperceptible  degrees  into  the  city  and  back  again. 

The  gentleman  explained  that  it  was  not  so  much 
the  mere  act  of  driving  Mrs.  Gerry  into  town  and  get 
ting  her  trunk  that  was  worth  money,  as  that  his  time 
was  valuable.  It  was  a  day's  job,  he  said  ;  and  that 
day,  he  asserted,  he  had  aimed  at  doing  a  number  of 
things.  He  remarked  that  at  this  season  of  the  year 
he  was  "  jes'  's  hurried  's  he  could  be ;"  whereat  Sa 
lome  laughed  in  as  care-free  a  manner  as  if  she  were 
at  a  play,  and  this  speaker  were  one  of  the  actors. 

But  Mrs.  Gerry  was  not  care -free,  and  she  had  a 
wild  wish  at  the  moment  to  be  a  man,  and  to  have  a 
stout  whip  in  her  hand,  and  to  lay  that  whip  with  the 
utmost  violence  over  this  creature's  shoulders. 

What  she  had  first  thought  was  a  lazy  good-nature 
in  Mr.  Maine  she  soon  discovered  to  be  only  the  in 
ertia  that  would  not  rise  to  active  anger  or  to  activity 
of  any  kind. 

Mrs.  Maine  began  immediately  to  tell  languidly  all 
she  had  endured  since  her  marriage.  She  never  spoke 
on  any  other  subject  but  this  endurance,  and  the  dif 
ference  there  was  in  her  present  condition  and  her 
condition  when  she  was  a  young  girl. 

Salome  would  look  at  her  with  incredulous  wonder. 
In  her  heart  she  did  not  believe  that  Mrs.  Maine  had 
ever  been  a  young  girl. 


170  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

The  woman  would  sit  at  one  side  of  the  fireplace — • 
for  she  seemed  to  want  a  fire  whether  the  day  was  hot 
or  cool — and  tell  what  luxuries  had  been  hers  when 
she  was  young — "  befo'  thur  wall." 

She  never  failed  to  assert  that  her  family  was  one 
of  the  "fust  fam'lies  down  in  Alabawm." 

And,  furthermore,  she  always  said  that  her  parents 
had  opposed  her  marriage,  but  that  she  had  married 
"fur  love." 

Salome  would  look  at  the  speaker,  and  then  out  to 
the  pine  log  at  the  speaker's  husband,  who  had  been 
married  "fur  love." 

Then  the  girl  would  shudder.  One  day  she  asked 
her  mother  if  it  were  possible  that  Mrs.  Maine  could 
ever  have  loved,  or  if  Mr.  Maine  could  ever  have  in 
spired  that  sentiment. 

"  Because,"  she  said,  emphatically,  "  if  that  has  been 
possible,  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  die  before  that 
kind  of  a  disillusionment  comes." 

Mrs.  Gerry  laughed,  and  replied  that  she  felt  posi 
tive  that  Mrs.  Maine  had  never  belonged  to  a  first 
family  in  Alabama  or  anywhere  else ;  but  as  for  love, 
why,  that  was  too  mysterious  a  subject  to  discuss. 

"There  was  Caliban,"  said  Salome,  meditatively. 

Now,  as  she  was  walking  along  the  path  with  some 
one  quite  different  from  Caliban,  the  sight  of  Job 
Maine  on  that  log  gave  her  a  shock. 

She  stopped,  and  laughed  somewhat  nervously. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Moore. 

"  You  see  that  man  ?" 

"  Maine  ?     Yes." 

"Well,"  laughing  again  and  shuddering  also,  "his 
wife  has  told  me  a  score  of  times  that  she  married 
that  man  '  fur  love.'  " 


X 

A    LITTLE    TENNIS 

THE  man  who  had  been  married  for  love  continued 
to  gaze  with  a  stolid  persistence  at  the  two  young 
people  coming  towards  him  through  the  thick  sand. 
They  came  on  with  comparative  lightness,  consider 
ing  that  the  sand  pulled  at  them  as  if  it  had  been 
alive  and  wished  to  draw  them  under. 

Job  felt  a  dull  envy  of  them.  He  had  always  been 
phlegmatic,  but  now,  seeing  these  two,  he  assumed  in 
his  own  mind  that  he  should  have  been  "jest  as  peart 
'n'  go  ahead  "  if  he  had  not  been  threatened  with  con 
sumption  and  been  obliged  to  come  South,  and  if  he 
hadn't  married  such  a  kind  of  woman.  He  knew 
of  plenty  of  reasons,  besides  the  reason  inherent  in 
his  own  character,  why  he  was  what  he  called  an  "on- 
lucky  man." 

His  pipe  having  gone  out,  he  had  fallen  back  on 
his  "  chaw,"  which  he  retained  in  his  mouth  even 
while  he  smoked. 

He  was  crouching  forward,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  in  his  usual  position. 

A  black  and  white  hound,  which  was  just  terminat 
ing  an  often- renewed  battle  with  the  fleas  which  in 
fested  him,  rose  from  the  shade  of  a  banana  shrub. 
This  banana  had  once  been  planted  by  Mrs.  Maine, 
and  it  had  lived  as  well  as  it  could  in  spite  of  the 
frosts  which  nipped  it  every  winter. 


172  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

The  dog  shook  its  flapping  ears  and  walked  slowly 
towards  the  new-comers. 

Salome  stooped  to  pat  the  animal  as  it  stood 
patiently  beside  her.  She  was  glad  to  see  the  hound. 
The  abounding,  exuberant  happiness  in  her  heart 
made  her  hand  linger  with  even  more  than  its  ordi 
nary  gentleness  upon  the  dog's  head. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Maine,"  said  Moore, with  some 
effusion,  and  to  be  effusive  with  the  man  before  him 
v/as  an  act  of  singularly  poor  judgment. 

"  Mornin',''  responded  Job. 

"  How's  your  wife  to-day  ?''  inquired  the  young 
man,  his  good-will  including  everybody. 

"Wall,"  said  Mr.  Maine,  slowly,  "it's  her  day  for 
them  shakes,  'n'  she's  got  urn  bad.  Sometimes  I 
think  them  first  fam'lies  in  Alabaum  has  shakes  wuss 
'n'  common  folks." 

There  was  not  a  hint  of  a  smile  on  the  man's  face. 

Moore  laughed,  and  responded  that  he  supposed 
there  were  drawbacks  even  to  the  joy  of  belonging  to 
the  Alabama  first  families. 

"You  bet,"  was  the  response.  "Mis'  Maine," 
went  on  Job,  "needs  whiskey;  she  needs  it  bad.  If 
I  had  half  a  dollar  I  should  hitch  urp  'n'  go  in  'n'  git 
it  fur  her.  But  when  a  man  has  a  wife  fro  s'port  he 
can't  always  hev  money  in  his  pocket." 

Moore  put  his  hand  in  his  own  pocket.  His  fingers 
touched  a  silver  dollar. 

He  did  not  believe  in  the  man  before  him,  and  he 
had  a  sincere  contempt  for  him.  But  to-day  he  would 
have  given  money  to  any  one. 

He  extended  the  silver  piece  to  Job  Maine,  who 
held  out  his  dingy  yellow  palm  for  it. 

"  I'll  borry  it,"  he  remarked.     "I  ain't  no  objeck  of 


A    LITTLE    TENNIS  173 

charity.  I'm —  '  Here  he  paused  as  if  he  could 
hardly  find  words  to  describe  himself.  He  finished 
by  saying,  "  I'm  a  Massachusetts  man." 

Moore  laughed  again. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same,"  he  said,  "  but  I'm 
only  a  New-Yorker." 

" Sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Maine;  "but  then  you 
ain't  to  blame.  'Tain't  fair  to  blame  er  feller  fur 
what  he  can't  help." 

He  lifted  himself  slowly  from  the  log. 

"  Thar's  my  ole  'oman.  That's  her  scritch  you 
hear.  I  s'pose  she  wants  some  blamed  thing  or 
other." 

"Whiskey,  perhaps,"  said  Moore. 

Each  member  of  the  group  gazed  up  towards  the 
residence  of  Mr.  Maine.  A  woman  had  appeared  in 
the  always  open  doorway, 

"  Job !  Job,  I  say !  There  ain't  er  stick  er  fire 
wood  hyar !  You  go  'n'  curt  some !  Do  it  right 
soon  !" 

"Yes,''  said  Mr.  Maine,  "that's  her  scritch.  Them 
fust  fam'lies  of  Alabaum  hev  right  pow'ful  scotches. 
They  do  that." 

The  man  turned  towards  Moore. 

"You  ought  er  take  warnin'  by  me,  you  young 
feller,  'n'  look  out  'bout  gittin'  into  thur  noose.  It's 
a  tumble  strain  on  a  man  to  hev  to  s'port  a  wife.  I 
should  hev  had  prop'ty  if  I  hecln't  hed  to  s'port  a 
wife.  Women  are  so  thunderin'  'xtravagant." 

"  I  say,  Job,  you  !"  came  from  the  hut. 

"Yes,"  remarked  Mr.  Maine,  "it's  her  scritch.  I 
reckon  I  sh'll  hev  to  be  gwine." 

But  he  made  no  further  movement  for  some  time. 

Moore  and  his  companion  walked  on.     The  hound 


174  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

followed  them  with  drooped  head  and  languidly  wav 
ing  tail.  What  with  the  fleas  and  the  extreme  un 
certainty  of  his  meals,  the  dog  was  not  as  happy  as  a 
clog  should  be. 

Upon  occasion  he  made  long  trips,  lasting  several 
days,  into  the  barrens  towards  the  south.  At  those 
times  he  hunted  on  his  own  account  and  he  ate  what 
he  caught.  He  would  come  back  comparatively  sleek. 
But  since  the  arrival  of  the  Gerrys  he  had  remained 
at  home,  and  he  had  chosen  their  cabin  as  his  home. 
There  he  shared  a  great  many  Indian -meal  "fire- 
cakes  "  and  swallowed  many  chicken  bones.  His 
poor,  despondent- looking  tail  became  less  and  less 
despondent.  Something  like  animation  was  now  and 
then  visible  in  his  eyes. 

What  did  he  care  that  his  master  called  him  a 
"durned  ole  houn'  that  didn't  know  whur  he  be 
longed?" 

This  dog  now  managed  to  trot  on  ahead  a  few 
yards  towards  Mrs.  Gerry,  who  was  sitting  out-of- 
doors  in  the  shade  cast  by  her  cabin. 

Moore  hurried  forward,  his  face  and  eyes  glowing. 
He  went  straight  up  to  Salome's  mother.  He  bent 
down  on  one  knee  by  her  side,  and  put  his  arm  over 
her  shoulders. 

His  action  was  so  genuinely  spontaneous,  so  evi 
dently  from  his  overflowing  heart,  that  it  made  him 
more  winning  to  Mrs.  Gerry  than  she  had  ever  known 
him.  Of  course  she  knew  what  was  coming.  She 
flushed  and  grew  pale. 

She  glanced  at  her  daughter,  but  she  could  not  see 
Salome's  face. 

Yielding  to  the  impulse  upon  her,  and  to  the  bright 
attraction  of  youth  and  ardor  and  truth  in  the  young 


A    LITTLE    TENNIS  175 

man's  handsome  face,  the  woman  kissed  him  on  each 
cheek.  He  had  flung  off  his  hat.  She  passed  her 
hand  over  the  thick  light  hair  which  was  now  closely 
cropped. 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes  and  fell  uppn  that  hair, 
glittering  keenly  for  a  moment. 

Moore's  own  eyes  were  blurred.  He  thought  that 
he  had  never  before  had  any  sense  of  what  he  had 
missed  in  not  having  known  his  mother. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Gerry,"  he  whispered,  "  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  I  love  her.  Do  you  think  I  love  her  enough  ? 
She  has  all  my  heart.  She  shall  have  all  my  life. 
But  what  can  any  man's  heart  or  life  be  in  compari 
son  with  the  happiness  of  knowing  that  she — 

Moore  hardly  knew  how  he  had  put  the  sentence 
together.  It  seemed  lumbering  and  stupid,  and  he 
did  not  care  to  finish  it. 

He  lifted  his  head  and  turned  to  look  at  Salome. 
But  she  had  gone  within  the  cabin.  She  was  sitting 
by  the  bed  with  her  face  pressed  into  the  pillow. 

She  wondered  why  at  that  moment  she  should  think 
of  Walter  Redd,  and  should  for  the  first  time  ask 
herself  if  he  had  really  suffered.  She  wondered  why, 
though  the  reason  was  plain  enough.  She  heard  in 
distinctly  the  voices  of  her  mother  and  her  lover  out 
side.  She  wished  that  she  might  go  away  and  be 
alone  for  a  few  moments.  She  did  not  wish  to  see 
any  one — not  any  one. 

She  rose ;  she  shook  back  the  hair  impatiently 
from  her  face  ;  with  her  hat  in  her  hand  she  went  out 
and  walked  away  in  the  direction  of  some  pines  which 
Mr.  Maine  had  not  yet  burned  down. 

The  place  was  a  rolling  rise  of  land.  From  its 
summit  one  might  see  the  Island  of  Anastasia,  with 


176  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

its  light-house,  and  could  catch  a  sight  of  the  long, 
glittering  line  of  blue  ocean  beyond.  Everywhere 
hereabouts  one  was  likely  at  any  time  to  see  that  blue 
stretch  of  the  Atlantic. 

The  hound,  who  had  been  sitting  on  his  haunches 
by  the  group  in  the  shade  of  the  hut,  instantly  sus 
pected  that  Salome  had  left  the  place.  He  rose  and 
solemnly  followed  her,  keeping  one  pace  behind  her 
until  she  paused  on  top  of  the  little  hill. 

She  stood  very  quietly,  looking  off  seaward.  The 
dog  sat  clown,  and  was  ready  to  wait  any  length  of 
time  until  it  should  please  his  companion  to  start. 

At  the  left,  two  or  three  miles  away,  were  visible 
the  church  spires  and  the  hotel  towers  of  St.  Augus 
tine.  But  Salome  did  not  see  them.  She  was  gazing 
with  vague  intentness  towards  the  ocean.  The  mist 
which  had  been  gathering  there  was  spreading  more 
and  more  thickly  from  the  sea  inland. 

But  through  the  mist  the  sun  still  shone  with  a  sub 
dued  and  dreamy  luminousness.  It  was  so  warm  that 
the  mocker  which  had  come  and  preened  himself  upon 
a  stiff  stalk  of  golden-rod  now  stood  indolently,with  his 
wings  lifted.  The  frogs,  which  day  and  night  kept  up 
their  pipings,  were  now  voiceless,  save  that  once  in 
a  while  one  would  give  a  shrill,  wavering  call,  and  that 
was  the  only  sound,  save  the  undertone  of  the  waves  on 
the  farther  side  of  Anastasia,  and  the  kindred  under 
tone  of  the  air  in  the  tops  of  the  tall  Southern  pines. 

As  Salome  stood  there,  with  the  hound  sitting  close 
behind  her,  a  little  flock  of  mourning  doves  came  run 
ning  along  through  the  rank,  coarse  grass.  The  dog 
turned  his  head  gravely  towards  them,  and  they  rose 
and  flew  away. 

Salome   saw  the  sober,  small  birds ;   she  watched 


A    LITTLE    TENNIS 


177 


their  flight,  but  she  did  not  know  that  she  did  so. 
She  turned  apparently  scrutinizing  eyes  upon  every 
thing  about  her,  but  chiefly  she  kept  her  gaze  on  the 
ocean.  Still  she  was  thinking  of  nothing  which  her 
eyes  saw.  She  was  really  aware  of  nothing  but  a  pen 
etrating  and  piercing  happiness. 

But  all  at  once  a  shadow  came  across  her  rapt  face. 
She  was  wishing  that  those  crows  had  not  flown  over 
her,  over  her  and  Randolph  Moore.  She  made  a  quick 
and  uncontrollable  movement  forward.  The  hound 
rose  and  stood  ready. 

She  glanced  clown  at  him. 

"Dear  old  Jack!"  she  said.  And  Jack  licked  the 
hand  which  hung  by  her  side.  His  yellow-brown  eyes 
were  upturned  in  pathetic  question  and  confidence. 

Salome  spoke  aloud,  but  what  she  said  had  no  ref 
erence  to  her  lover. 

11  By  the  day  after  to-morrow  father  will  have  the 
money."  And  she  added,  below  her  breath,  "I'm  glad 
I  did  it.  I  should  not  have  thought  of  doing  it  for 
myself,  but  I'm  glad  I  did  it  for  father." 

A  joyous  voice  from  the  direction  of  the  cabin 
called  : 

"  Salome  !     Salome  !" 

She  turned  to  see  Moore  coming  with  long  strides 
across  the  sand,  pushing  aside  the  scrub-oak  limbs 
impatiently,  his  face  showing  eager  and  ardent. 

Salome  was  suddenly  beset  by  an  inexplicable  in 
stinct,  which  imperatively  suggested  flight. 

But  she  knew  she  could  not  fly ;  the  sand  would 
make  her  feet  like  lead. 

She  put  out  her  hands  with  a  quick  gesture  of 
denial.  The  gesture  was  so  decided  that  Moore 
paused. 


178  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"Let  me  come,"  he  said. 

"  No,  no  !     Go  back  to  Augustine." 

"  But  when  shall  I  see  you  ?  Don't  be  cruel  to  me, 
Salome." 

She  did  not  answer  his  last  remark. 

"  I  don't  know.  To-morrow,  perhaps.  Go,  please ; 
I  want  to  be  alone — with  Jack,"  glancing  at  the  dog 
with  a  slight  smile. 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?  What  a  hard-hearted  girl  you 
are  !  And  your  mother  has  been  so  kind  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it.     But  my  mother  is  always  kind." 

Salome  moved  away  from  the  young  man  who  stood 
looking  at  her.  He  lingered  a  moment,  his  eyes  upon 
her  receding  figure.  He  was  acutely  disappointed. 
He  thought,  with  a  sigh,  that  girls  were  scarcely  like 
human  beings.  How  could  she  go  away  from  him  thus 
if  she  loved  him  ?  He  could  hardly  give  up  the  joy  of 
a  few  more  words  with  her,  of  a  moment  of  silence. 

But  she  was  walking  resolutely.  Then  she  meant 
what  she  said.  Girls  so  often  did  not  mean  what  they 
said.  He  supposed  he  must  obey  her.  It  required  a 
good  deal  of  resolution  to  enable  him  to  set  his  face 
unflinchingly  to  walk  back  to  Augustine,  and  it  would 
be  so  long  before  the  next  day. 

But  he  began  his  return,  and  he  did  not  pause  until 
he  had  reached  the  Plaza.  Here  he  sat  clown.  He 
was  still  confused  with  his  happiness.  It  was  with 
difficulty  that  he  could  return  the  greetings  of  ac 
quaintances  who  sometimes  sauntered  by.  He  was 
glad  there  were  not  many  out  now.  It  was  not  two 
hours  after  noon.  Of  the  people  who  believed  that 
they  constituted  society,  no  one  was  visible. 

There  was  a  suffocating  odor  from  the  sulphur  water 
that  bubbled  in  the  old  market  from  the  artesian 


A    LITTLE   TENNIS  179 

pipe.  There  were  times  when  this  odor  overpowered 
everything  else  in  the  vicinity.  But  then  every  one 
said  it  was  "  so  healthful,"  and  a  great  many  Northern 
visitors  absorbed  immense  quantities  of  that  water, 
that  certainly  smells  and  tastes  unutterably  nasty. 
There  ought  to  be  some  compensation  for  drinking  it. 
Robust  health  would  not  be  too  great  a  reward  for  the 
violation  of  one's  tastes  which  it  is  necessary  to  suffer 
in  swallowing  this  liquid,  which  seems  to  lie  under  the 
whole  State  of  Florida,  waiting  for  the  boring  process 
to  release  it. 

After  Moore  had  sat  a  while,  the  sight  of  a  man 
going  into  the  post  -  office  aroused  his  business  in 
stincts.  When  he  had  first  come  to  the  town  he  had 
come  with  the  intention  of  selling  that  retail  dealer  "a 
bill  of  goods."  He  had  not  yet  succeeded. 

He  walked  rapidly  across  the  street,  revolving 
what  he  would  say.  He  thrust  every  other  thought 
into  the  background,  and  by  the  time  he  had  joined 
that  man  the  "drummer"  was  completely  to  the  fore. 

But  the  girl  out  there  in  the  barrens  had  no  goods 
to  sell,  and  nothing  with  which  to  occupy  her  mind, 
save  the  remembrance  of  the  young  man  who  had 
pleaded  with  her  not  to  send  him  away.  He  had 
called  her  cruel.  She  now  began  to  fear  that  she  had 
been  cruel.  She  thought  of  him  as  suffering  and  dis 
consolate.  She  did  not  think  of  him  as  selling  "a  bill 
of  goods  "  with  eagerness  and  a  dash  of  shrewd  satis 
faction.  He  made  a  memorandum  of  the  articles  and 
the  amount,  and  then,  as  he  strolled  off  with  a  satisfied 
look  on  his  face,  he  began  to  think  of  Salome  again, 
and  he  began  to  arrange  in  his  own  mind  how  he 
could  plan  his  business  so  that  he  might  stop  in  Flor 
ida  the  longest  possible  time.  He  did  not  like  to 


180  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

think  of  the  day  when  he  should  be  obliged  to  go 
North. 

He  took  out  his  memorandum-book  and  studied  it, 
with  a  view  to  having  entirely  to  himself  that  hour  on 
the  following  day  when  Salome  would  leave  Mrs.  Dar- 
rah.  Having  done  this,  he  decided  to  practise  at 
tennis  an  hour  or  two  with  Miss  Nunally.  He  found, 
however,  that  Miss  Nunally  was  already  practising 
tennis  with  a  big  man  who  had  a  military  air  and  a 
voice  which  sounded  as  if  it  were  quite  used  to  the 
utterance  of  big  oaths. 

Portia  greeted  Moore  with  one  of  her  best  smiles  as 
she  nodded  to  him.  But  she  did  not  ask  him  to  join 
the  game  and  make  an  awkward  third. 

The  young  man  felt  irritated.  Miss  Nunally  was 
extremely  fetching  this  afternoon.  It  was  a  real  pleas 
ure  to  watch  her  as  she  played,  she  was  so  agile,  so 
alert,  and  so  graceful.  She  was  one  of  those  women 
who  never  do  anything  which  they  cannot  do  grace 
fully. 

As  Moore  stood  watching  the  game,  thinking  every 
moment  he  would  go  away,  but  not  going,  he  felt  more 
and  more  aggrieved  and  injured  that  that  big,  bass- 
voiced  Major  should  be  there.  That  man  was  too  fat 
to  play  tennis.  It  made  him  puff,  and  his  face  was 
almost  purple.  And  a  man  like  that  was  absolutely 
absurd  in  flannels.  How  on  earth  could  Miss  Nunally 
look  at  him  when  he  spoke  to  her  ?  Moore  declared 
to  himself  that  it  made  him  sick  to  see  such  fat 
cheeks  as  the  Major  had. 

He  did  not  care  particularly  for  Miss  Nunally,  but 
she  was  very  jolly,  and  had  a  way  of  understanding  a 
fellow,  and  she  was  never  stupid. 

If  he  could  not  be  with  Salome  he  much  preferred 


A    LITTLE    TENNIS  iSl 

to  be  with  a  girl  like  Miss  Nunally  rather  than  with 
any  man. 

At  last  the  game  ended.  The  Major  ogled  Miss 
Nunally  as  he  told  her  it  was  better  to  be  beaten  by 
her  than  it  was  to  beat  any  one  else. 

Miss  Nunally  smiled  at  him,  and  replied  that  she 
thought  he  could  have  the  pleasure  of  being  beaten 
by  her  for  a  good  many  times  if  he  didn't  go  some 
where  and  practise  more. 

"Go  somewhere?"  he  said,  ogling  again;  "I  want  to 
come  here." 

"Jove!"  was  Moore's  thought,  as  he  leaned  against 
a  tent  -  pole.  "  How  can  she  bear  it  ?  And  he's 
fifty,  sure." 

But  Miss  Nunally  seemed  so  well  able  to  bear  it 
that  she  smiled  again,  even  more  alluringly  than  be 
fore. 

"  Very  well ;  come  here,  then.  But  you  are  an 
awful  bore." 

These  last  words  were  spoken  in  such  a  way  that 
the  Major  felt  complimented.  He  straightened  him 
self.  He  put  one  pudgy  hand  on  his  hip. 

"  I'm  bound  to  come,  anyway.  I  wish  I  hadn't 
got  to  go  now.  I  promised  Lucas  I'd  be  with  him  at 
tiffin.  I  shall  see  you  again  to-night ;  so  it  isn't 
good-bye." 

He  took  off  his  cap,  showing  his  bald  head  as  he 
did  so.  He  bobbed  his  head  slightly  at  Moore,  who 
bobbed  his  still  more  slightly  in  return.  Then  he 
walked  away. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  common-sense  does  he  say 
'tiffin'  for?"  inquired  Moore,  when  the  Major  was  be 
yond  hearing.  "  Isn't  lunch  a  good  enough  word  ?" 

"  Not  for  the  likes  of  him,"  answered  Portia,  with  a 


1 32  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

laugh.  "  I  think  he  was  in  India  for  a  week  or  two 
once — and  habits  cling  to  one." 

"Jove!"  said  Moore,  this  time  aloud,  curling  his 
lip. 

"You  needn't  say  '  Jove '  about  Major  Root,"  re 
turned  Miss  Nunally. 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Because  I'm  going  to  marry  him  if  he  will  kindly 
ask  me,  and  I  think  he  will." 

Moore  started  into  an  erect  attitude. 

"  Oh,  Jupiter  !"  he  cried.  "  That  is  too  much,  Miss 
Nunally.  You  don't  mean  that.  I  shall  forbid  the 
banns." 

"Oh  no,  you  won't.  It  will  be  an  eminently  suit 
able  marriage.  He  wants  to  buy  a  young  wife,  and  I 
want  to  sell  myself  to  a  rich  husband.  You  see,  upon 
occasion,  I  can  use  very  unequivocal  words." 

"  But — but — "  stammered  Moore. 

The  two  looked  full  at  each  other  for  an  instant. 

It  was  Moore  who  turned  away  with  a  resentful 
sparkle  in  his  eyes  and  a  flush  on  his  face. 

He  had  become,  in  a  way,  quite  intimate  with  Miss 
Nunally  and  her  aunt  during  the  past  two  or  three 
weeks.  Moore  was  the  kind  of  a  man  in  whom 
women  quickly  and  naturally  confide,  and  they  never 
repented  this  confidence,  for,  as  yet,  he  had  never 
taken  advantage  of  any  such  manner  from  women. 
There  was  a  frankness  and  a  simplicity  and  a  com 
parative  purity  in  this  young  man's  character ;  and 
perhaps  I  ought  to  add,  so  much  winning  beauty  in 
his  face  that  feminine  human  nature  was  almost  in 
variably  drawn  to  him. 

Mrs.  Darrah  used  occasionally  to  ask  her  niece  : 

"  Where  is  that  young  fellow  whom  I  like  ?" 


A    LITTLE   TENNIS  183 

"  Is  the  world  so  poor  in  young  fellows  that  there 
is  only  one  whom  you  like  ?"  Portia  would  question 
in  return. 

"  I  have  lived  a  good  many  years^  and  I  have  seen 
but  few  radiant  young  gods  like  this  Moore,"  returned 
Mrs.  Darrah.  "Why,  one  may  really  sun  one's  self 
in  his  presence." 

"I'll  tell  him  so,"  said  Portia.  "No  doubt  he  will 
be  gratified." 

"  If  I  could  only  put  him  in  a  book  and  have  him 
really  alive,  all  the  women  in  the  civilized  world  would 
buy  that  book,  and  I  should  be,  for  a  week  at  least, 
the  most  prominent  author  in  America.  The  critics 
would  forget  what  they  have  been  saying  of  me.  I 
wish  you  would  hand  me  my  note-book,  Portia;  not 
the  blue  one,  the  green  one ;  I  put  the  masculine 
traits  in  the  green  one.  Now,  why  isn't  Mr.  Moore 
just  as  natural  a  character  as  those  myriads  of  unin 
teresting,  neutral  creatures  that  swarm  in  the  novels 
in  these  days  ?" 

Mrs.  Darrah  paused  to  write  a  few  lines.  Without 
looking  up,  she  said  : 

"  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  you  leave  a  note,  some 
day,  Portia,  pinned  on  to  your  toilet  cushion,  saying 
you  have  found  that  you  cannot  endure  life  save  as 
you  can  live  it  with  Moore ;  that  you  hope  to  be 
forgiven,  and  so  forth  ;  and  would  I  still  let  that 
legacy  stand  in  my  will  ?  I  should  not  blame  you 
overmuch." 

Mrs.  Darrah  wrote  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"  I  shall  certainly  put  him  in.  my  novel  of  senti 
ment,"  she  said,  "  and  I  think  I  could  make  it  inter 
esting  if  he  should  be  in  love  with  a  girl  like  my 
amanuensis.  I  don't  quite  know  whether  I  should 


184  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

like  to  be  in  love  with  her  myself  or  not.  She  is 
more  than  one  girl." 

"  That  might  give  a  variety,  then,"  said  Portia,  who 
was  turning  over  a  pile  of  laces.  "When  her  husband 
that  is  to  be  gets  tired  of  one  of  her,  he  can  amuse 
himself  with  another  of  her.  Miss  Gerry  ought  to  be 
congratulated." 

Instead  of  replying,  Mrs.  Darrah  repeated  : 

"  I  shall  certainly  use  him,"  and  continued  to  write 
in  her  note-book. 

It  was  this  conversation  with  her  aunt  that  for  some 
reason  came  to  Portia's  mind  now,  as  she  stood  in 
the  tent  on  the  tennis-ground  with  Moore. 

Perhaps  something  in  the  young  man's  face  made 
her  recall  it.  Her  own  face  wore  a  look  of  gay  reck 
lessness.  She  swung  her  racket  back  and  forth,  and 
smiled  as  she  did  so. 

"  If  Major  Root's  first  wife  were  living,"  she  re 
marked,  "  she  could  probably  tell  me  how  the  Major 
looked  when  he  was  young,  and  not  so — well,  not  so 
fat  as  he  is  now.  Don't  you  think  he  must  weigh  a 
great  many  pounds,  Mr.  Moore  ?" 

"  Disgusting  !"  cried  that  young  man.  "  Oh,  Miss 
Nunally,  are  you  really  going  to  marry  that — that — " 

"  Gallant  soldier,"  finished  Portia.  "  I  told  you 
yes,  if  he  asks  me." 

As  she  pronounced  the  last  words  she  glanced  up 
at  Moore,  and  Moore  made  an  impetuous  step  tow 
ards  her. 

"  If  you  were  my  sister  now  I  would  shut  you  up  in 
a  dungeon  until  Major  Root  had  married  some  one 
else." 

"  But  I  am  not  your  sister ;  and  if  I  were,  you 
would  be  so  eager  to  have  me  'provided  for,'  that 


A    LITTLE    TENNIS  185 

you  would  be  contriving  ways  so  that  the  Major  and 
I  might  meet." 

"  Never !"  cried  Moore,  violently.  "  I  respect  women 
too  much." 

Portia  laughed. 

"  It  always  amuses  me  when  I  hear  a  man  say  he 
respects  women,"  she  said. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  The  young  man  was  quite  ex- 
citecl.  "  Don't  you  think  that  I,  for  one,  respect 
women  ?" 

"  You  ?"  The  girl  gazed  at  him  contemplatively. 
After  a  pause  she  continued  :  "  Yes,  I  think  yo.u  do. 
But  you  are  different.  And  you  are  young." 

"I  am  not  precisely  an  infant,"  said  Moore,  dryly. 

Portia  walked  across  the  tennis-ground.  Then  she 
came  back  and  said,  abruptly  : 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  ?  Do  you  think  your  face 
has  not  revealed  it  long  ago  ?" 

Moore  suddenly  seized  the  girl's  hand.  But  she 
withdrew  it  instantly. 

"I  did  want  to  tell  you,"  said  he,  eagerly.  "It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  must  tell  somebody,  and  I  don't 
care  about  being  confidential  with  a  man.  Men  are 
so  kind  of  hard  and — crude,  but — oh,  Miss  Nunally, 
you  can  have  no  idea  how  happy  I  am  !" 

"  Can  I  not  ?"  smiling  sympathetically. 

"  And  when  you  talked  in  that  dreadful  way  about 
marrying  old  Root,  why,  really,  it  was  very  hard  to 
bear.  If  you  wait  you  may  see  some  one  whom  you 
will  love,  and  then — " 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  I've  been  in  love  two  or  three 
times,"  she  interrupted. 

"  Really  ?" 

"  I  thought  so.     It  is  so  difficult  to  tell  when  you 


1 86  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

have  the  genuine  article,  you  know,  Mr.  Moore,  that 
I  think  I  am  very  sensible  when  I  make  up  my  mind 
to  do  without  it  entirely.  Then  I  shall  have  no  dis 
illusion  to  suffer.  If  Major  Root  gives  me  some  dia 
monds,  and  makes  a  good  settlement,  I  know  exactly 
what  I've  got.  But  you — 

The  girl's  eyes  were  caught  for  an  instant  in  those 
of  her  companion. 

"You  make  me  so  sorry — so  sorry,  Miss  Nunally." 

Moore  spoke  out  from  his  heart,  and  his  voice  was 
unsteady  from  the  excess  of  his  sympathy. 

"I  am  not  bidding  for  your  pity,"  she  answered, 
quickly.  "Of  course  she  loves  you." 

"  Not  of  course,"  withdrawing  a  little  as  he  replied, 
"  I  can  hardly  believe  in  such  a — 

"  Such  a  miracle,  perhaps  you  would  say,"  supple 
mented  Portia.  "  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer  now. 
It  is  very  fatiguing  to  play  tennis  with  Major  Root, 
and  I  must  have  a  long  rest  before  dinner.  Do  you 
want  to  see  my  aunt  ?  I  think  she  is  composing — 
one  never  knows  accurately  when  she  is  going  to 
compose — but  she  seems  always  ready  to  see  you." 

"  No ;  I  will  take  a  boat  and  go  across  to  the 
North  Beach.  Since  I  can't  see  you,  I  will  see  no 
one." 

"Oh,  thanks  !     I  will  tell  Miss  Gerry,"  laughing. 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way." 

"I  know  that.     Good-bye  !" 

Moore  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  when  he  heard 
Miss  Nunally's  voice  pronouncing  his  name.  He 
went  back  to  her.  She  held  out  her  hand.  With 
frank  interest,  she  said  : 

"  Mr.  Moore,  I  wish  you  every  happiness." 

She  did  not  wait  for  any  response.     She  walked 


A    LITTLE    TENNIS  iSj 

into  the  hotel.  The  young  man  stood  watching  her 
until  she  had  disappeared  among  the  shining-leaved 
shrubs. 

Then  he  retraced  his  steps  along  the  path.  He 
shook  his  head  as  he  said  that  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  if  somebody  would  shoot  that  heavy  Major. 
Women  were  very  strange.  A  man  might  think  they 
were  all  refinement  and  delicacy,  when,  presto  !  they 
were  the  most  indelicate  and  unrefined  creatures  in 
God's  world.  He  did  not  understand  it. 

But  there  was  one  woman  whom  evil  of  any  kind 
could  not  approach  ;  one  feminine  nature  which  could 
not  contemplate  anything  that  was  really  sin. 

With  this  thought  in  his  mind,  Moore  went  to  the 
wharf  and  stepped  into  a  boat,  rowing  rather  indo 
lently  out  across  the  river. 

That  night  he  was  summoned  up  to  Jacksonville 
on  business.  He  found  it  peculiarly  hard  to  go. 
Even  the  prospect  of  selling  an  unusually  large  "  bill 
of  goods  "  did  not  reconcile  him.  He  had  no  time  in 
which  to  see  Salome.  He  left  a  note  in  the  post- 
office  for  her.  He  promised  himself  to  be  back  the 
next  clay. 

Meanwhile,  the  next  day  Salome  did  not  appear  at 
Mrs.  Darrah's.  But  at  the  usual  time  a  rather  prim 
and  exceedingly  neat  middle-aged  woman  was  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  the  authoress,  who  sat  waiting 
rather  impatiently,  her  ideas  being  brilliant  and  flow 
ing  this  morning. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  without  any  preface,  "  you 
are  her  mother." 

"Yes.  I  came  to  explain  that  I  didn't  wish  her  to 
come  to-day.  She  seems  to  have  a  cold.  I  thought 
she  was  almost  well." 


1 88  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

Mrs.  Gerry  paused. 

"  Don't  be  worried  about  that,"  responded  Mrs. 
Darrah,  briskly,  "  she'll  get  strong.  By  spring  she'll 
be  all  right." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?"  with  an  uncontrollable 
quaver  in  her  voice. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it.  She  isn't  ill ;  only  delicate.  Sit 
down.  I'm  greatly  interested  in  your  daughter,  Mrs. 
Gerry." 

The  worn  face  lightened.  It  did  not  surprise  Mrs. 
Gerry  in  the  least  that  any  one  should  be  greatly  in 
terested  in  Salome. 

But  she  would  not  stop.  She  had  left  the  girl 
lying  wrapped  in  shawls  out-of-doors.  This  cold, 
however,  was  not  like  the  same  thing  in  the  North. 
In  two  days  Salome  seemed  as  well  as  ever.  She 
went  back  on  the  third  day  to  Mrs.  Darrah.  She 
found  a  letter  from  Moore,  saying  he  had  gone  to 
Tampa,  and  bewailing  his  fate. 

"Come  here  and  let  me  kiss  you,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah, 
when  Salome  entered.  "  If  you  had  not  come  to-day, 
I  was  going  to  send  Portia  out  there  beyond  the 
Maria  Sanchez." 

The  speaker  drew  the  girl  down  and  kissed  her 
cheek. 

"  Let  us  talk  a  little  first,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  Salome  responded. 


XI 

CONFESSION 

THE  girl  had  placed  herself  in  her  chair  by  the  desk. 
She  had  taken  off  her  broad  hat  and  turned  her  face 
fully  towards  her  employer,  who  was  looking  at  her 
with  a  mild  interrogation  in  her  glance. 

"But  I  ought  not  to  take  up  your  time,"  said  Sa 
lome,  hesitatingly.  "  Perhaps  I  will  wait  until  the 
dictation  is  over." 

"Oh  no,"  was  the  return;  "I  said  we  would  talk 
a  little  first.  You  are  looking  very  well  this  morning, 
Miss  Gerry.  You  seem  not  to  have  a  care  in  the 
world." 

Salome  smiled  happily. 

"  That's  what  my  mother  said  when  I  left  her,  and 
it  seemed  to  be  such  a  comfort  to  her." 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed.  And  you  are  really 
getting  well  ?" 

"Thank  you,  yes.  I  am  well;  my  cough  is  gone. 
I  am  just  living  now,  for  the  first  time." 

Mrs.  Darrah  contemplated  her  companion  in  sym 
pathetic  silence. 

"It  is  not  life  at  all — the  life  of  an  invalid,"  went 
on  Salome,  speaking  with  unusual  freedom.  "  I  don't 
see  how  I  endured  it  up  home.  It  was  always  that  I 
must  not  do  this,  for  it  might  overtax  me  ;  I  must  not 
do  the  other  thing,  for  fear  that — oh  dear!  And  I 


190  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

was  always  wondering  if  my  cough  would  be  better  at 
night,  or  would  the  early  morning  air  be  too  bracing  ? 
And  I  must  eat  things  that  would  make  blood.  And 
my  view  of  the  world  was  so  narrow,  and  I  was  so 
given  to  self-examination.  Oh,  I  was  a  miserable, 
narrow  little  thing  !  But  that  girl  is  buried  somewhere 
up  in  New  England,  where  she  lived.  Do  you  think 
she  will  ever  come  to  life  again,  Mrs.  Darrah  ?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Mrs.  Darrah  remarked  : 

"  You  interest  me  so  much  !  And  I  thought  I  knew 
all  the  girls  and  young  men  long  ago." 

Salome  went  on  in  the  same  tone  she  had  been 
using,  and  with  much  the  same  expression  of  face. 

"But  t  mustn't  talk  about  myself  so  much.  I'm 
sure  to  be  a  bore  if  I  do  that ;  because,  as  Miss  Nu- 
nally  says,  then  other  people  can't  talk  about  them 
selves.  She  says  that's  what  everybody  wants  to  do. 
I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  I  put  your  name  to  one 
of  your  blank'  checks  in  your  check-book  a  few  days 
ago." 

Salome  gazed  calmly  but  with  undisguised  interest 
at  her  employer. 

Mrs.  Darrah  suddenly  left  her  cushions  and  sat  up 
right.  Then  she  sank  back  upon  them  and  responded  : 

"  I  suppose  you  wanted  to  see  how  well  you  could 
do  it.  Let  me  look  at  it." 

"  But  I  have  sent  it  to  my  father.  He  needed  the 
money." 

"  What  ?" 

Mrs.  Darrah  sat  upright  again. 

"  He  needed  the  money,"  repeated  Salome. 

Mrs.  Darrah  gazed  a  moment  in  silence ;  then  she 
said : 

"  Hand  me  my  note-book,  please — the  blue  one." 


CONFESSION  191 

But  Mrs.  Darrah  did  not  immediately  write  in  the 
book ;  she  held  it  in  her  hand  while  she  gazed  at  the 
girl,  who  returned  her  gaze  in  a  shy  but  self-possessed 
manner. 

"Does  your  mother  know?''  at  length  asked  the 
woman. 

"  Oh  no  !" 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  her  ?" 

"  Because  I  knew  she  would  be  unhappy  about  it. 
She  would  think  I  had  done  wrong." 

Here  Mrs.  Uarrah  fell  to  writing  rapidly  a  few  lines. 

Presently  she  looked  up.  "  And  what  do  you  think 
about  it  yourself  ?''  she  asked. 

"Well,"  reflectively,  "intellectually  I  know  it  is 
wrong,  but  somehow  I  don't  have  any  feeling  about  it." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  have  any  feeling  about  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Darrah  wrote  again.  Her  keen,  small  eyes 
were  like  sparks  of  light  now. 

"  Does  your  father  know  ?" 

Salome  rose  impulsively.  Her  eyes  flashed,  but  she 
resumed  her  seat  directly. 

"No — do  you  think  I  should  let  him  know?  I  had 
to — to  prevaricate.  I  wrote  that  a  rich  friend  would 
lend  the  sum.  And  you  know  I  was  sure  you  would 
let  me  work  out  the  amount." 

"  Oh,  you  were  sure  of  that  ?" 

"  Yes.  And  there  was  no  time.  You  had  a  head 
ache  that  morning.  I  thought  I  would  talk  with  you 
about  it.  I  can  work  out  the  amount;  and  father,  nor 
mother  either,  need  never  know  anything  concerning 
the  affair." 

"  May  I  ask  what  the  sum  is  ?" 

As  she  put  this  question  Mrs.  Darrah  had  in  her 
mind  fifty  or  a  hundred  dollars. 


I Q2  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  Eight  hundred  dollars,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Good  heavens !"  Mrs.  Darrah's  face  darkened 
somewhat.  As  Portia  had  once  explained,  this  wom 
an,  while  she  was  generous,  was  yet  fond  of  her 
money. 

"  It  was  a  mortgage  on  the  farm,"  calmly  went  on 
Salome,  "  and  father  would  have  kept  up  the  interest, 
only  I've  been  such  an  expense  to  him.  I  felt  as  if  I 
were  responsible,  you  see.  And  I  will  work  it  out. 
I'm  perfectly  willing  to  work  it  out — I've  meant  to  do 
that.  I  shall  be  able  to  use  shorthand  in  a  month  or 
two,  and  I  do  hope,  Mrs.  Darrah,  I  can  be  very  use 
ful  to  you.  I'm  sure  I  can  be." 

An  enthusiasm  began  to  shine  in  the  girl's  face. 

Mrs.  Darrah  made  an  effort  to  retain  the  calmness 
which  had  threatened  to  leave  her ;  but  she  could  not 
yet  lean  back  on  her  cushions. 

"  Have  you  an  idea  how  long  it  will  take  you  to  pay 
me  at  your  present  salary  ?"  she  inquired. 

"Oh  yes,"  cheerfully;  "I've  reckoned  it  precisely." 

"  You  have  ?"    Mrs.  Darrah  spoke  rather  helplessly. 

"  Certainly." 

"  But  I  may  not  want  you  all  the  time.  Do  you 
think  I  write  every  week  in  the  year  ?  And  perhaps 
I  shall  decide  not  to  have  you  work  for  me." 

"  If  you  do  that  I  can  still  work  somewhere,"  with 
gay  courage  came  the  answer. 

Mrs.  Darrah  now  gave  up  trying  to  be  calm.  She 
had  never  been  so  surprised  in  her  life.  She  began 
walking  about  the  room. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  you  are,  Miss  Gerry  ?" 
she  said,  after  a  moment,  stopping  before  the  girl. 

"  What  I  am  ?"  inquiringly. 

"  Yes ;  that  you  are  a  forger — neither  more  nor  less." 


CONFESSION  193 

Salome  was  silent  for  a  space.  She  lowered  her 
eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  raising  her  glance  as  she  spoke ; 
"  I  suppose  that  is  the  name  of  it.  lJut  it  was  for 
father,  and  I  was  sure  you  would  allow  me  to  make 
up  the  sum  to  you." 

"  But  the  sin  of  it !" 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Salome,  "  of  course,  there  is  the 
sin  of  it.  I  knew  that,  as  I  said,  intellectually ;  but  I 
did  not  care,  in  my  heart,  for  that.  You  had  plenty 
of  money.  I  was  sure  you  would  not  suffer  until  I 
could  pay  you." 

Mrs.  Uarrah  paused  by  her  couch,  where  she  had 
dropped  her  note-book.  She  snatched  it  up  and  wrote 
in  it,  as  if  she  must  in  some  way  relieve  her  excite 
ment. 

She  turned  to  the  girl.  "  But  your  conscience  ? 
Where  is  your  conscience,  Miss  Gerry  ?" 

"  That  is  what  I  ask  myself,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
think  I  must  have  left  it  in  New  England." 

"  You  used  to  have  one  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  ;  and  it  was  a  very  good  one,  too,  for  it 
was  continually  troubling  me." 

Mrs.  Darrah  now  threw  her  note-book  on  the  couch, 
apparently  that  she  might  clasp  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  work  this  out !"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  would  astound  the  critics." 

Salome  looked  at  her  companion  wonderingly. 

"  Do  you  mean  anything  about  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  mean  everything  about  you,"  was  the  answer. 

The  girl  seemed  puzzled.  She  remained  silent, 
watching  her  employer  as  she  moved  about  the  room. 
After  a  while  Mrs.  Darrah  paused  in  front  of  Salome. 

"  Have  you  anything  more  to  say  ?"  she  asked. 
13 


TQ4  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have.  Yes ;  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  tell  you  that  I  am  sorry." 

"  Not  unless  you  are  sorry,"  said  the  elder  woman, 
who  now  returned  to  her  couch,  and  who  arranged  the 
cushions  there  with  a  great  appearance  of  interest. 
But  she  kept  up  her  watch  of  the  girl. 

Salome  began  to  speak  slowly,  but  soon  was  enun 
ciating  rapidly,  as  was  her  habit,  as  if  the  words  came 
too  fast  to  be  spoken. 

"  You  remember,"  she  said,  "  that  I  said — or  did  I 
only  think  it  ? — that,  intellectually,  I  knew  it  was 
wrong.  I  know  that  just  as  well  as  you  can  tell  me. 
But  then,  suddenly,  I  knew  how  my  father  was  suffer 
ing,  and  I  knew  he  never  could  pay  the  money  him 
self  ;  and  there  was  your  check-book  ;  and  I  could 
write  your  name,  and  you  were  rich  ;  I  had  not  the 
least  feeling  that  held  me  back,  and  I  haven't  now, 
and  I  don't  think  I  ever  shall  have." 

"The  sin  of  it  doesn't  trouble  you?" 

"No." 

"  Even  Portia  wouldn't  have  done  that,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Darrah,  suddenly. 

Salome  made  no  reply.  She  was  absorbedly  en 
gaged  in  considering  herself  as  a  third  person,  and  in 
trying  to  decide  what  she  should  think  of  that  third 
person.  But  she  gave  up  the  attempt  without  having 
come  to  any  decision. 

"  And  Portia  would  do  some  strange  things  for 
money  and  what  money  brings,"  went  on  Mrs.  Darrah, 
following  out  her  thought.  "For  instance,  she  would 
legally  sell  herself  to  a  man  whom  she  dislikes.  But, 
then,  she  is  not  peculiar  in  that." 

Salome,  hearing  this,  could  not  restrain  a  gesture 
of  disgust. 


CONFESSION 


'95 


Mrs.  Darrah  was  watching  her.  She  again  wrote 
in  her  note-book,  the  blue  one,  which  contained  the 
hints  concerning  feminine  nature. 

"  I  see  you  still  retain  the  fine  '  Daphnean  instinct,'  " 
she  said.  "  But  who  can  tell  how  soon  you  may  drop 
that  ?" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Darrah  !"  cried  Salome,  with  keenest  re 
monstrance  ;  and  now  she  blushed,  which  was  a  rare 
occurrence  for  her.  As  she  felt  the  blood  rush  to  her 
face  she  thought  of  Miss  Nunally's  question,  "  Why 
do  you  never  blush?"  and  the  blood  came  up  more 
hotly  than  ever  as  she  recalled  those  words. 

"  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  pay  that  money,"  said 
the  girl,  after  a  pause.  "  It  is  much  more  reasonable 
that  I  should  work  and  earn  money  now  than  that 
father  should  have  to  do  it.  I  am  young.  And,  some 
how,  father  never  could  get  money  together  like  some 
men.  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  help  him.  You  will  be 
sure  to  see  that  father  nor  mother  never  finds  this 
out,  won't  you,  Mrs.  Darrah  ?" 

This  question  was  put  with  a  confiding  earnestness 
that  acted  like  a  sudden  clutch  upon  Mrs.  Darrah's 
well-worn  heart. 

She  did  not  reply  immediately.  When  she  did 
speak,  it  was  to  put  another  question. 

"  Have  you  reflected  that  an  act  of  this  kind,  that 
any  crime,  makes  falsehood  necessary  ?" 

"  No — that  is,  I  had  not  thought  much  about  it." 

"  Do  you  care  whether  you  lie  or  not,  Miss 
Gerry  ?" 

"  How  can  I  say  ?  Of  course  I  know  it  was  a  lie  to 
put  your  name  to  that  check." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  about  that ;  only  I  care  intense- 


196  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

ly  that  father  and  mother  should  not  know  it.  They 
would  feel  so  much,  you  see." 

"Naturally." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Darrah  had  made  her  decision 
concerning  the  money.  She  was  very  wealthy  ;  still, 
even  wealthy  people  do  not  enjoy  having  a  sum  stolen 
from  them.  But  in  this  woman  the  author  in  search 
of  material  was  very  strong,  and  she  was  vitally  inter 
ested  as  to  how  this  would  "  turn  out."  She  felt  that 
it  was  better  than  any  novel  she  had  ever  read;  far 
better  than  any  she  should  ever  write.  Would  this 
prove  only  one  instance  of  curious  moral  aberration, 
or  was  it  the  first  in  the  process  of  moral  deterio 
ration?  And  all  this  talk  of  the  girl  about  her  con 
science  ?  Of  course,  her  conscience  had  never  been  a 
healthy  one.  It  must  have  been  deeply  unhealthy,  as 
were  the  consciences  of  some  invalids,  particularly  if 
they  were  women  who  had  been  brought  up  with  an 
eye  specially  to  the  conscience. 

And  what  had  there  been  in  the  history  of  Salome's 
immediate  ancestors  ?  And  what  prenatal  influences  ? 
Was  Mrs.  Darrah  about  to  come  upon  something  that 
should  explain  what  she  called  the  different  faces  of 
the  girl  ? 

With  these  thoughts  in  her  mind  Mrs.  Darrah  now 
spoke : 

"  I  should  like  to  see  your  mother." 

Salome  became  very  pale.     But  she  said,  steadily, 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  tell  her  ?'' 

"  No." 

"What  shall  be  the  arrangement?" 

"  This  :  I  shall  allow  you  to  borrow  that  money. 
But  your  mother  must  know  why  you  seem  to  receive 
no  salary  from  me.  Tell  her  the  whole  story,  except 


CONFESSION  197 

that  you  used  my  name.  Show  her  your  father's  let 
ter,  for,  of  course,  you  have  not  shown  it  to  her.  Tell 
her  I  lend  you  the  sum,  and  you  repay  me  as  you  can. 
I  will  see  that  the  check  is  not  disputed." 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  are  !"  cried  the  girl. 

"  Very,"  was  the  satirical  response.  "  Don't  be 
grateful." 

"  But  I  feel  so  grateful,  Mrs.  Darrah." 

"  I  suppose  so.  Now,  I  want  to  see  your  mother. 
We  will  not  write  to-day.  Go  out  there  where  you 
live — ask  your  mother  to  call  upon  me  this  afternoon 
about  five.  I  will  send  a  carriage  for  her  if  she 
cannot  walk." 

"  She  will  gladly  walk,"  was  the  reply.  "And  I 
will  tell  her  what  you  said  about  the  money  ?" 

"  Yes.     Now,  good-bye  until  to-morrow  at  nine." 

Salome  left  the  room.  As  she  emerged  from  the 
hotel  she  stopped  by  one  of  the  fountains.  A  rush  of 
sweet  air  came  from  a  garden  of  roses. 

The  girl  lifted  her  head  and  inhaled  the  perfume. 
She  stood  by  the  fountain  and  smiled  to  herself. 

The  woman  whom  she  had  just  left  remained  on 
her  couch  a  moment.  Then  she  rose  and  pressed  the 
button  of  the  bell.  She  requested  the  servant  to  ask 
Miss  Nunally  to  come  to  her. 

When  she  had  clone  so  she  said  to  herself  that  she 
felt  as  if  she  should  go  wild  if  she  stayed  there  alone 
and  thought  another  moment. 

Portia  came  in,  not  in  the  most  perfect  good-nature. 

"  Do  you  want  anything  particularly,  Aunt  Flor 
ence  ?"  she  inquired.  "  I  was  reading  one  of  your 
novels." 

"  Novels  are  very  insignificant  things  when  com 
pared  to  real  life,"  was  the  rather  startling  response. 


198  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"Not  your  novels,  aunt,  dear,"  replied  Portia, 
"  and,  besides,  I  was  just  getting  sleepy,  and  I  must 
restore  myself  somehow  if  I  am  to  see  Major  Root 
this  evening." 

"  You  are  always  talking  about  yourself,  Portia," 
fretfully. 

"  No  ;  but  sometimes  I  do  like  to  speak  of  a  subject 
of  real  interest  to  me.  What's  the  matter,  anyway  ? 
And  where  is  Salome  Gerry  ?  You  actually  look  ex 
cited,  Aunt  Florence." 

"Do  1?      I'm  thinking  about  a  new  novel." 

Portia  yawned. 

"  I  have  almost  made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  on  with 
the  novel  of  sentiment,  but  to  begin  one  about — " 

Portia  yawned  again. 

"I  wish  you'd  stop  doing  that,  Portia.  It  is  very 
annoying  when  I  am  talking.  Did  you  see  Miss  Ger 
ry  when  she  left  ?" 

"  No.     Why  ?" 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  how  she  looked." 

"  Why,  how  should  she  look  ?"  in  surprise. 

"That's  what  I  don't  know  in  the  least.  That's 
what  I  should  like  to  find  out,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah. 

Portia  now  showed  some  interest. 

"  Aunt,  it  is  too  much  for  you  to  write  novels. 
Can't  you  stop  it  ?" 

"  Stop  it ! — with  material  thrust  into  my  hand  ?" 

"  I  know  it  is  asking  a  great  deal ;  but  you  certain 
ly  do  give  me  the  idea  this  morning  that  novel-writ 
ing  is  too  much  for  you." 

Portia  gave  a  scrutinizing  gaze  about  the  room. 
In  spite  of  her  yawning,  and  the  sound  of  her  words 
as  they  are  set  down  on  paper,  she  did  not  have  the 
appearance  of  being  impolite,  and  she  rarely  did  have 


CONFESSION  199 

that  appearance.  She  possessed  the  power,  in  re 
markable  degree,  of  being  insolent  under  the  garb  of 
politeness.  Not  that  her  aunt  cared  whether  she  were 
insolent  or  not.  There  was  a  certain  aroma  of  per 
sonal  presence  about  Portia  Nunally  that  made  one 
forgive  a  vast  deal  in  her  which  would  have  been  un 
forgivable  in  another.  And  when  Portia  chose  to  be 
deferential  and  winning,  when  she  felt  like  letting 
her  eyes  dwell  on  you  in  a  way  her  eyes  had,  then 
you  could  hardly  be  blamed  if  you  lost  your  head  a 
little. 

When  you  came  fully  to  understand  that  she  was 
conscious  of  this  way  her  eyes  had,  then  possibly 
you  began  to  regain  your  head  a  little ;  but  there 
had  been  cases  when  it  required  a  long  time 
for  this  last  desirable  consummation  to  be  reached. 
Men  and  women  alike  were  her  victims.  The  way 
she  put  it,  however,  was  that  she  was  the  victim  of 
men  and  women  alike.  "  On  the  whole,  though,"  she 
said  once  when  in  a  mood  of  confession,  "  I  like 
women  better.  Women  know  things.  You  can  ab 
solutely  rely  upon  scores  of  women  to  know  instantly 
why  you  talk  one  way  only  for  the  reason  that  you 
feel  the  opposite.  There's  a  great  comfort  in  that. 
And  then  the  extreme  surprise  that  comes  to  a  well- 
regulated,  properly  brought  up  young  woman  when  she 
finds  that  she  is  in  love  with  another  woman — me,  for 
instance.  Of  course,  if  she  doesn't  know  it  isn't  really 
love,  and  often  she  doesn't,  there  will  be  plenty  to 
tell  her.  Sometimes  it  requires  quite  a  good  deal  of  ar 
gument  to  convince  her  that  if  she  were  in  love  with  a 
man  it  would  be  the  real  thing.  For,  don't  you  see, 
between  men  and  women  '  love  for  an  hour  is  invari 
ably  love  forever ;'  but  in  all  other  cases  it  is  an  ephem- 


200  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

eral,  spurious,  abnormal  article.1'  Here  Portia's  eyes 
would  dilate,  and  she  would  laugh  in  a  way  that 
might  possibly  make  her  hearer  shiver  slightly.  Or 
she  would  not  laugh,  but  would  lean  towards  you 
and  smile  right  into  your  eyes,  in  such  a  manner  that 
you  felt  imperatively  moved  to  find  out  what  kind  of  a 
girl  she  was. 

But  when  a  woman  is  nearly  thirty,  when  she  has 
eyes  with  a  dash  of  green  in  them,  with  thick  light 
lashes,  when  she  is  a  yellow  blonde  with  very  scarlet 
lips — why,  then,  it  is  next  to  impossible  for  a  man  or 
woman  to  find  out,  unscathed,  what  sort  of  a  person 
she  is.  One  unfortunate  result  of  a  study  of  charac 
ter  under  these  circumstances  is  that  presently  you  do 
not  care  in  the  least  whether  you  are  scathed  or  un 
scathed  ;  and  you  are  never  precisely  the  same  after 
such  a  process  of  education. 

This  girl  was  superlatively  sensitive  and  intuitive. 
It  was  not  necessary  to  be  that  in  such  a  degree  for 
her  to  perceive  that  something  unusual  had  happened 
in  this  room.  The  longer  she  sat  there  the  more 
interested  she  became,  and  the  less  she  felt  like 
yawning. 

She  moved  uneasily.  She  noted  Mrs.  Darrah's 
rather  set  face. 

"  I  feel  my  hair  beginning  to  rise  on  my  head,"  she 
remarked,  at  last.  "  I  am  almost  sure  there  is  a  spook 
in  this  room  somewhere." 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  said  her  aunt. 

Portia  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  she  started  in  a 
dramatic  manner  she  had. 

"  There  is  something  materializing  in  Miss  Ger 
ry's  chair  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Really,  Aunt  Florence, 
if  you  don't  tell  me  why  you  sent  for  me,  I  may  go 


CONFESSION  201 

into  a  state  of  self-imposed  hypnotism  in   spite   of 
myself." 

"  I  sent  for  you,  Portia,  because  I  have  had  such  a 
shock  that  I  wanted  to  divert  my  mind,"  was  the 
answer ;  "  and  sometimes  you  can  be  very  diverting." 

"Oh,  thank  you.  Did  Miss  Gerry  give  you  mate 
rial  in  a  very  unexpected  manner,  or  did  she  have 
hemorrhage  of  the  lungs  ?" 

Portia  glanced  about  her  as  if  she  might  see  some 
token  of  that  hemorrhage. 

"  Portia,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  with  solemnity,  "  what 
is  your  idea  of  conscience  ?" 

The  girl  sat  upright  with  a  quick  movement. 

"  Aunt  Florence,"  she  answered,  "  I  haven't  an  idea 
of  conscience." 

She  asked,  almost  immediately,  "Have  you  got  into 
trouble  with  Miss  Gerry's  conscience  ?" 

"  Don't  ask  irrelevant  questions,"  was  the  response. 
"  I  suppose,  Portia,  you  have  an  idea  that  some  things 
you  would  do,  and  some  things  you  would  not  do  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  when  you  put  it  in  that  way,  aunt,  I 
find  you  quite  lucid,  and  I  can  answer  you,"  replied 
the  girl;  "but,  first,  don't  you  want  your  note-book — 
the  blue  one  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  It  is  rather  irritating  that  I  am  never  material  to 
you,  aunt." 

"I've  known  you  too  long.  Now,  what  would  you 
do  and  what  wouldn't  you  do  ?" 

Portia  considered  ;  at  last  she  answered  : 

"  The  things  I  would  do  are  so  very  many  that  I 
can't  begin  to  tell.  But  there  are  a  few  things  I  would 
not  do." 

"  Well,  what  are  they  ?"  with  interest. 


2O2  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"The  first  that  occurs  to  me  is  that  I  would  not, 
for  the  world,  wear  my  hair  in  that  abominable  Greek 
way  which  that  Stacy  girl  thinks  so  fine.  And  I 
wouldn't  have  those  ugly  gathers  in  the  skirt  of  my 
frock — not  though  they  were  ten  times  the  fashion. 
If  you  will  give  me  half  an  hour  in  which  to  collect 
my  thoughts,  ma  tante,  I  will  tell  you  more  things 
that  I  would  not  do." 

Portia's  face  was  full  of  mischief ;  but  it  was  full  of 
interest  also. 

Mrs.  Darrah  was  now  gazing  coldly  and  concentrat- 
edly  at  her  niece,  but  she  was  thinking  of  the  face  of 
the  other  girl  who  had  so  lately  left  her. 

''  You  would  steal  from  a  wife  her  husband's  love  ?" 
she  questioned. 

"Yes,"  promptly;  "but  that  kind  which  could  be 
stolen  would  not  be  very  precious — and  it  would  be 
quite  fun  to  steal  hers," 

"  You  would  steal  her  purse  or  her  necklace,  or 
forge  her  name  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,  indeed !"  Portia  did  not  try  to 
conceal  her  amazement.  Then  she  endeavored  to 
smile  as  she  once  more  offered  to  get  the  blue  note 
book.  She  said  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  surely  a 
fitting  time  for  the  blue  note -book.  Then  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  remarked  that  there  were 
occasions  when  she  could  wish  that  she  were  not  the 
niece  of  an  authoress.  After  this  she  inquired  if 
Aunt  Florence  were  rehearsing  a  plot,  or  trying  on  a 
chapter,  and  could  she  assist  her  in  any  other  way  ? 
Should  she  put  on  her  new  evening  dress  and  pose  ? 

"The  amount  of  it  all  is,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Darrah, 
without  noticing  the  girl's  words,  "  that  we  do  not  in 
the  least  know  what  we  are,  nor  what  we  would  do." 


CONFESSION  203 

"  Now  I  agree  with  you  ;  now  you  speak  truth," 
responded  Portia  ;  and  she  could  not  help  adding, 
"  won't  you  write  a  novel  about  that,  Aunt  Flor 
ence  ?" 

"I  wish  you  would  go  away,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah; 
"  I  want  to  think." 

Without  speaking  again  Portia  obeyed.  She  strolled 
out  into  the  court,  and  she  also  stood  by  a  fountain 
amid  the  luxuriance  of  Southern  shrubbery,  as  Sa 
lome  had  done  a  half-hour  before.  But  Portia's  face 
was  not  as  care-free  as  Salome's  face  had  been. 
There  were  some  lines  on  it  now  which,  in  spite  of 
the  great  beauty  and  fairness  of  its  skin,  made  the 
girl  look  more  than  her  years. 

Presently  she  walked  into  that  portion  of  the 
grounds  which  Miss  Gerry  would  be  likely  to  pass 
through.  She  had  a  wish  to  meet  Miss  Gerry  and  to 
ask  her  a  few  questions. 

But  she  did  not  find  her ;  Salome  had  not  lingered 
long.  She  had  walked  out  through  the  sand  in  a 
state  of  calm  and  content.  She  was  in  haste  to  see 
her  mother  and  to  explain,  as  Mrs.  Darrah  had  sug 
gested. 

It  was  time  now  to  hear  from  her  father.  He 
would  be  sure  to  write  as  soon  as  he  had  received  her 
letter.  By  to-morrow  morning,  when  the  Northern 
mail  came  in,  she  would  hear. 

Though  she  was  in  haste,  yet  the  girl  did  not  hurry. 
It  was  not  easy  to  hurry.  She  was  even  sometimes 
tempted  to  linger,  but  she  kept  on,  the  air  coming 
balmily  to  her  lips  and  to  her  lungs,  which  expanded 
now  with  an  unconsidered  ease.  She  had  been  as 
ready  to  forget  that  she  had  ever  been  ill,  as  we  all 
are  ready  to  do  that  when  health  comes  back  to  us. 


204  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

She  saw  her  mother  sitting  sewing  in  the  doorway 
with  the  hound  lying  at  her  feet.  The  door  was  not 
yet  hung,  but  was  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  hut. 
The  long  leaves  of  the  banana  swayed  gently  near 
the  pine  log  upon  which  Mr.  Maine  was  not  at  this 
moment  resting. 

The  hound,  hearing  the  slight  sounds  of  her  foot 
steps  in  the  sand,  lifted  his  head.  His  face  bright 
ened,  and  he  rose  with  the  solemn  deliberation  that 
is  characteristic  of  a  hound  who  is  no  longer  young. 
He  paced  slowly  towards  the  girl,  who  came  forward 
with  that  lightness  which  is  a  part  of  youth. 

The  mother,  looking  at  her,  was  immediately  aware 
of  a  joyousness  of  aspect  which  differed  from  the 
happy  expression  which  had  belonged  to  her  daughter 
for  a  few  weeks  now. 

Mrs.  Gerry  smiled  in  response  to  the  warm,  eager 
smile  on  the  young  face. 

"Well?1'  she  said. 

Salome  came  and  took  the  work  from  her  mother's 
hands.  Then  she  sat  down  on  her  mother's  lap  and 
clasped  her  arms  about  her  neck.  She  was  smiling 
all  the  time. 

"  Now,  at  last,  I  am  of  some  importance,"  she  said. 

"  Not  until  now,  then  ?"  was  the  questioning  re 
sponse. 

"  Of  course  you  and  father  have  loved  me,  and  so 
I  have  been  of  importance  that  way,"  replied  Sa 
lome  ;  "  and  I  have  been  rather  an  important  burden, 
haven't  I  ?" 

"Yes,"  drawing  the  slight  form  closer,  "you  have." 

"  But  now  I  have  arranged  to  help  pay  off  the 
mortgage.  I  did  not  allow  you  to  see  father's  last 
letter ;  I  didn't  think  it  was  best.  There  it  is.  He 


CONFESSION  205 

was  in  trouble.  Mrs.  Darrah  has  lent  the  money. 
Father  must  have  it  by  this  time.  That  horrid  Uncle 
John  will  get  it  all  right ;  and  I'm  going  to  pay  it. 
You  see,  I'm  working.  Work  is  a  great  thing.  But 
I  won't  bother  you ;  read  the  letter  in  peace."  For 
Mrs.  Gerry  had  seized  the  envelope  eagerly. 

"  Lyman  in  trouble !"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

Her  eyes  ran  over  the  lines.  Her  hand  trembled 
a  little,  but  she  steadied  it. 

When  at  last  she  looked  up  she  could  not  see  her 
daughter,  who  still  sat  on  her  lap,  save  in  a  misty  and 
magnified  fashion. 

"  It's  a  great  deal  better  to  owe  Mrs.  Darrah  than 
to  owe  Uncle  John,  isn't  it  ?''  quickly  asked  Salome. 

"  Yes  ;  that  is,  I  can't  tell.  I  must  think,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is.      And  it  gives  me  such  a  chance." 

Mrs.  Gerry  wiped  her  eyes.  Then  she  fixed  them 
on  the  girl. 

"  This  letter  is  more  than  a  week  old.  And  Lyman 
had  to  have  the  money  directly,"  she  said.  "  When 
did  you  arrange  this  ?" 

"  Oh,  immediately  !    Almost  the  moment  I  read  it." 

Mrs.  Gerry,  even  in  her  surprise  and  anxiety,  could 
not  restrain  an  expression  of  something  like  admi 
ration. 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  such  a  business  woman," 
she  said. 

"  But  something  had  to  be  done.  And  did  you 
think  I  would  not  be  a  business  woman,  or  something 
worse,  so  that  I  might  help  father  ?  You  see  it  has 
all  come  out  right,  hasn't  it  ?  We  would  rather  owe 
Mrs.  Darrah  than  Uncle  John  ;  and  it  won't  seem  so 
very  long  before  I  can  pay  it  off." 


206  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Salome's  face  was  radiant.  She  flung  herself  again 
upon  her  mother's  neck. 

"  Now  don't  say  a  single  '  prudent '  thing  to  me. 
Just  be  glad  it  is  arranged.  I  am  responsible  for  this. 
It's  the  first  really  responsible  thing  I  ever  did,  isn't 
it  ?  I  don't  think  you  quite  realize  that  I  am  grown 
up,  and  that  I  am  an  individual." 

"  I  think  I  shall  realize  it  after  this.  I  must  go  and 
see  Mrs.  Darrah." 

"Yes,  but  not  now,"  as  Mrs.  Gerry  made  a  move 
ment  to  rise.  "  You  are  to  go  at  five  this  afternoon. 
She  sent  for  you." 

And  at  precisely  five  Mrs.  Gerry  was  shown  into 
Mrs.  Darrah's  sitting-room.  She  found  that  lady 
alone,  and  she  was  greeted  by  the  following  remark  : 

"  Sit  down,  please.  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  great 
many  questions.  I  am  laying  out  a  new  novel." 

This  was  so  very  much  different  from  what  she  had 
expected  to  hear  that  Mrs.  Gerry  was  not  able  to  say 
anything  at  first  in  response.  She  sat  down  in  silence. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  "  I  am  planning  a  new 
novel.  I  shall  drop  my  story  of  sentiment  for  the 
present,  or  I  may  possibly  work  the  two  together." 

"And  what  is  the  new  one  to  be?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  found  it  an  effort  to  put  this  question. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  she  had  been  sent  for  to 
listen  to  this  kind  of  talk? 

She  did  not  quite  know  what  to  decide  concerning 
the  woman  before  her.  But  she  knew  that  she  her 
self  must  say  a  few  things.  She  began  instantly  : 

"  My  daughter  says  you  have  been  so  kind  as  to — 

"  Yes,  certainly.  I've  lent  her  eight  hundred  dol 
lars,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Darrah ;  "  she  will  work  it  out 
— or  part  of  it." 


CONFESSION  207 

"  My  husband  and  I  will  give  our  note  for  the 
amount,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  with  firmness,  "  and  we  will 
have  the  mortgage  transferred  to  you.  Then,  in  any 
event,  you  will  not  lose.  It  will  be  a  great  relief  to 
us.  I  must  say  that  my  daughter  should  not  have 
done  this  without  consulting  with  her  parents." 

"  Done  what  ?"  with  a  sharp  look. 

"  Borrowed  this  money.  I  will  attend  to  the  mort 
gage." 

"Very  well,  as  you  please.  I  have  not  the  slightest 
doubt  of  your  honesty." 

"  Thank  you,"  stiffly. 

"  But  I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions,  Mrs.  Gerry. 
Let  us  call  it  part  of  the  bargain,  if  you  please,  that  I 
ask  you  some  questions.  Shall  we  ?" 

"  I  see  no  objections  ;  though  I  can't  imagine  what 
you  will  want  to  know.  And,  of  course,  I  must  use 
my  own  judgment  about  answering." 

"  Of  course,"  was  the  response ;  "  and  I  can  see 
your  judgment  is  excellent.  But  I  am  the  most 
harmless  creature  in  the  world,  Mrs.  Gerry.  Still,  I 
have  my  hobbies.  Let  me  get  my  note-books.  I 
may  need  both  the  green  and  the  blue  one.  I  am 
immensely  interested  in  your  daughter.  I  want  to 
make  some  inquiries  about  your  father  and  mother, 
and  about  your  husband's  father  and  mother.  I  may 
even  go  so  far  back  as  another  generation.  Now, 
please  don't  think  me  demented,  will  you  ?  No,  you 
won't.  Thank  you  so  much  for  that.  Were  Miss 
(Jerry's  parents  and  grandparents  and  great -grand 
parents  all  New  England  people  ?  That's  a  very 
general  question  to  begin  with,  isn't  it  ?" 


XII 

THE    MOTHER 

WHEN  Mrs.  Gerry  heard  these  interrogations  she 
did  not  reply  immediately,  and  her  face  changed  in 
describably.  She  glanced  at  her  companion,  and  met 
Mrs.  Darrah's  eyes  fixed  upon  her.  Had  those  eyes 
been  merely  probing  and  inquisitive  she  could  have 
braced  herself  coldly,  and  have  put  on  an  armor 
which  might  have  essentially  aided  her  in  this  inter 
view.  But  unexpectedly  she  encountered  an  expres 
sion  of  sympathy  and  gentleness,  and  the  mother's 
whole  attitude  changed  from  that  of  defence  to  some 
thing  quite  different.  As  for  Mrs.  Darrah,  she  could 
not  explain  to  herself  why  this  woman's  strong,  con 
trolled  face  should  so  modify  what  she  might  have 
called  her  professional  curiosity  into  something  hu 
man,  something  which  had  little  to  do  with  the  novel 
which  was  forming  itself  in  her  mind,  though  she  still 
felt  indefinitely  that  she  might  probably  come  upon 
some  rather  rich  "  material :" 

As  the  silence  continued,  Mrs.  Darrah  said,  in  a 
voice  not  much  above  a  murmur: 

"  I  am  always  so  deeply  interested  in  grandparents. 
Once  in  a  while  a  person  runs  upon  such  strange 
things  in  grandparents." 

Mrs.  Gerry  did  not  speak.  That  she  was  thinking 
deeply  and  painfully  was  apparent.  When  she  had 


THE    MOTHER  209 

met  that  look  of  sympathy  from  her  hostess  the  New 
England  woman  felt  it  a  distinct  relief  to  cease  from 
holding  herself  in  such  a  stiff  mental  attitude. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  aware  of  a  reaction 
from  the  alertness  and  the  care  that  she  had  con 
stantly  exercised  since  she  had  left  her  home  with 
her  daughter.  And,  curiously,  at  the  same  time  also 
she  was  conscious  that  she  feared  the  approach  of 
some  new  and  as  yet  entirely  unformed  care.  She 
was  not  in  the  least  given  to  vagaries  or  supersti 
tions,  however.  She  could  have  smiled  at  herself  that 
Mrs.  Darrah's  sympathy  should  so  quickly  seem  to 
weaken  her. 

She  sat  upright  in  her  chair,  in  strong  contrast  to 
the  lounging  figure  opposite  her. 

"  Before  I  reply  to  you,  Mrs.  Darrah,"  she  said,  "  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  what  has  suggested  such  ques 
tions  to  you." 

"  Why,  your  daughter,  of  course  ;  who  else  ?"  was 
the  prompt  response.  "  Don't  you  know  that  she  is 
not  a  usual  kind  of  a  girl  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  could  not  help  an  uneasy  movement. 

"  I  see  that  you  don't  like  that,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Darrah.  "  Like  all  upright,  conventional  natures,  you 
distrust  the  unusual/' 

"  Yes,  I  do  !"  emphatically. 

"And  yet,"  reflectively,  "it  is  to  the  being  out  of 
the  ordinary  that  the  world  owes  its  greatest  debts." 

No  response  to  this  remark.  Mrs.  Darrah  opened 
one  of  her  note-books,  saying,  as  she  did  so, 

"  But  we  are  straying  from  the  subject  of  grand 
parents." 

"  They  were  not  all  New  England  people,"  said 
Mrs.  Gerry,  with  abrupt  precision.  "There  was  one 


210  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

exception.  That  was  my  grandfather,  my  mother's 
father.  Of  the  rest  there  is  absolutely  nothing  to 
say,  for  they  were  the  common  country  folks  in  one 
of  our  villages  up  home." 

Mrs.  Gerry  pressed  her  hands  together  quietly  but 
closely  upon  her  lap. 

Mrs.  Darrah  took  a  position  removed  from  her 
cushions.  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  interest.  But 
there  was  a  marked  expression  of  kindness  upon  her 
face. 

"  Please  don't  think  me  hard  and  disagreeable," 
she  said  ;  "  but  you  can't  imagine  how  interesting  this 
is.  I  quite  reckoned  upon  the  unusual  one  in  your 
daughter's  ancestry.  Miss  Gerry  is  so  contradic 
tory." 

Mrs.  Gerry's  hands  griped  each  other  more  closely 
than  before. 

"  Have  you  noticed  it,  too  ?"  she  asked.  "  Then  it 
certainly  must  be  true.  I  have  continually  told  my 
self  that  it  was  my  fancy.  What  do  you  think  it  is, 
Mrs.  Darrah  ?  Perhaps  it  will  be  a  relief  to  talk  to 
you.  Has  Salome  said  anything  very  strange  ?  Oh, 
tell  me  what  is  in  your  mind  !  The  child  has  such  a 
— such  an  expression  sometimes  comes  to  her  face. 
I  can't  describe  it." 

"Try  to  describe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  eagerly. 

A  sombre  kind  of  smile  passed  over  Mrs.  Gerry's 
lips  as  she  met  her  companion's  glance.  But  she  felt 
that  it  was  safe  to  go  on.  The  genuineness  in  the 
writer's  character  had  decidedly  risen  to  the  surface 
to  meet  the  same  quality  in  this  woman.  Besides,  it 
was  not  until  this  moment  that  Mrs.  Gerry  had  what 
she  would  have  called  a  "realizing  sense  "  of  the 
strain  and  the  anxiety  in  every  way  which  had  been 


THE    MOTHER  211 

upon  her  since  she  had  left  her  home.  Almost  the 
only  human  beings  with  whom  she  could  speak,  save 
Salome,  were  Job  Maine  and  his  wife.  And  she  did 
not  write  of  any  anxieties  to  her  husband.  She  had 
never  put  any  burdens  on  him  which  she  could  bear 
alone.  Though  she  had  not  really  spoken  it  in  words 
to  herself,  yet  none  the  less  she  had  all  her  married 
life  acted  upon  the  knowledge  that  she  must  bear 
trials  by  herself  all  that  she  could  ;  that  she  was  bet 
ter  fitted  to  bear  trials  than  Lyman  was.  And  now  as 
she  sat  in  this  richly  appointed  room,  and  was  dimly 
conscious  of  the  approach  of  a  trouble  in  some 
strange  new  guise,  with  a  thrill  of  faithful  and  pro 
tecting  love  she  thought : 

"  I  must  keep  it  from  Lyman  ;  I  must  bear  it  my 
self." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  repeated  Mrs.  Darrah.  "  I 
know  I  make  novels,  and  I  like  to  get  odd  facts ;  but, 
Mrs.  Gerry,  I  do  believe  it  will  do  you  good  to  talk 
freely  with  me." 

"  I  believe  it  will,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry. 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  She  was  thinking  that 
she  had  not  known  she  was  so  tired.  And  then  she 
had  a  vivid  sensation  of  thankfulness  that  her 
daughter  was  better.  Whatever  happened,  Salome 
was  better.  At  this  she  grew  more  cheerful. 

"  It's  all  done  with  long  ago,"  she  said,  "  and  it's 
only  because  you  have  been  kind  that  I'm  willing  to 
tell  you.  My  mother's  father  was  not  an  American  ; 
he  was  what  we  used  to  call  an  '  outlandish  man.' 
He  was  born  in  Martinique,  but  his  parents  were 
Spanish.  I  saw  him  only  a  few  times  ;  he  died  when 
I  was  a  child.  I  remember  well  his  large  eyes  and 
his  curious,  dark  skin.  My  mother  was  the  only 


212  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

child,  and  she  did  not  resemble  him  in  the  least — 
everybody  said  so — she  was  clear  Ware,  like  her 
mother.  She  was  a  real  Puritan  girl.  Salome  used 
to  look  just  like  her  grandmother,  and  she  had  that 
kind  of  a  conscience  that  is  always  fretting  and  won 
dering,  and  making  the  owner  of  it  afraid  that  he  or 
she  doesn't  do  just  right.  That  was  my  mother. 
Salome  has  her  features  now.  But  somehow  she 
doesn't  look  like  her  any  more.  I  don't  quite  under 
stand  it.  But  then,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Darrah,  it  is  not 
necessary  that  we  should  understand  everything." 

Mrs.  Gerry  paused.  She  smiled  rather  sorrowfully 
and  wistfully.  She  was  wondering  if  this  woman, 
who  must  be  wise,  since  she  wrote  books  which  were 
printed,  could  not  say  something  to  help  her. 

When  Salome  had  had  what  the  doctors  called  in 
cipient  phthisis,  her  mother  had  not  felt  nearly  so 
helpless  as  she  did  now  when  there  seemed  to  be 
nothing  the  matter  with  the  girl,  and  she  was  happy. 

"Whether  it  be  necessary  or  not,  we  can't  under 
stand  everything,"  responded  Mrs.  Darrah,  quickly. 
"  But  we  can  try.  What  kind  of  a  person  was  this 
Martinique  gentleman  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  was  a  gentleman  at  all,"  was  the 
answer ;  "  at  least,  he  was  not  what  I  call  a  gentle 
man.  I  think  of  him  now  as  I  thought  of  him  as  I 
used  to  see  him  when  I  was  a  little  thing.  I  loved 
him  with  a  kind  of  ardent  fondness,  though  he  was  a 
withered  old  man  ;  that  is,  he  seemed  very  old  to 
me.  I  could  have  believed  he  was  a  hundred — any 
age.  I  used  to  plead  to  sit  on  his  knee.  I  would 
stare  into  his  eyes,  which  were  so  soft  and  so  dark. 
They  were  as  different  from  any  eyes  I  knew  any 
thing  about  as  if  they  were  not  human  eyes.  He  was 


THE    MOTHER  213 

only  an  animal.  But  no  " — Mrs.  Gerry  paused  here 
so  long  that  she  apparently  forgot  that  she  had  been 
talking,  and  .that  some  one  was  listening.  But  Mrs. 
Darrah  was  patient.  She  sat  with  a  note-book  in  her 
lap  and  a  pencil  in  her  hand.  But  she  had  at  this 
moment  no  thought  of  writing. 

The  warm  air  blew  in  through  the  open  windows 
and  stirred  the  drapery  of  the  room.  Somewhere  in 
the  court  a  woman  was  singing  something  of  which 
only  the  piercing  high  note  was  audible.  More  and 
more  Mrs.  Gerry  felt  that  it  was  a  relief  to  her  to 
speak.  It  often  happens  that  to  a  stranger  one  may 
unseal  what  to  one's  kin  would  remain  forever  closed. 

"  How  strange  children  are  !"  she  now  suddenly 
exclaimed.  "  I  remember  one  day  the  minister  called. 
I  was  a  small  thing  in  a  long  '  tire '  to  cover  my  new 
pink  calico  frock.  I  was  picking  over  blackberries, 
and  was  sitting  on  a  stool  in  the  kitchen  with  a  dish 
on  each  side  of  me,  one  for  the  good  berries  and  one 
for  the  poor.  It  was  hot,  so  hot  that  the  perspiration 
kept  gathering  on  my  face,  and  I  kept  putting  up  the 
back  of  my  hand  to  wipe  it  off.  We  were  going  to 
have  bread  and  milk  for  supper,  for  mother  said  she 
would  not  make  a  fire  for  fear  there  would  be  a 
thunder  tempest.  There  were  thunder-heads  rolling 
up  all  the  time  in  the  west. 

"Grandfather  was  lying  on  the  grass.  He  was  per 
fectly  happy.  He  said  it  was  an  awful  climate,  and 
it  was  only  on  such  days  as  these  that  he  thought  it 
was  warm  enough.  He  would  lie  in  the  sun  for  hours 
and  hours.  If  I  came  near  him  he  would  fondle  me. 
I  used  to  know  even  then  that  he  did  not  always  tell 
the  truth.  I  had  discovered  that  about  him.  I  hardly 
knew  what  to  think  of  it.  You  know,  Mrs.  Darrah, 


214  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

that  to  the  old-fashioned,  average  child  such  as  I  was, 
to  tell  the  bald  truth  was  as  necessary  to  life  as  it 
was  to  breathe."  , 

Mrs.  Gerry  looked  at  her  companion,  who  nodded 
quickly. 

"  My  mother  was  like  an  incarnation  of  truth," 
went  on  Mrs.  Gerry.  "  I  told  you  she  was  a  real  Ware. 
And  she  was  conscientious  to  a  painful  degree.  But 
she  loved  her  father,  I  really  think,  better  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  world.  And  he  was  so  lovable — 
so  lovable.  Everybody,  everything  loved  him,  Mrs. 
Darrah.  But  you  couldn't  trust  him  ;  he  had  no 
principle  ;  he  wasn't  upright.  And  he  was  so  kind ; 
his  heart  was  so  gentle  ;  he  had  such  a  way  with  him ; 
and  he  loved  so,  Mrs.  Darrah — "  here  Mrs.  Gerry 
suddenly  left  her  chair  and  stood  upright.  But  she 
made  no  gesture.  Her  eyes  burned  in  her  controlled 
face.  "  How  do  you  account  for  such  things  ?" 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Gerry,"  was  the  response,  "  we 
don't  account  for  them." 

"But  we  ought  —  we  ought,"  replied  the  other. 
"  You  know  it  isn't  right  to  love  a  man  or  woman  of 
that  kind." 

"  They  talk  about  loving  the  sinner  but  hating  the 
sin,"  remarked  Mrs.  Darrah,  with  an  incredulous  smile. 

"I  know  that.  But  we  can't  do  it.  We  can't  do 
it.  The  minister  spoke  about  that  on  that  afternoon. 
He  spoke  in  the  most  general  way,  as  ministers  often 
do.  But  he  liked  my  grandfather ;  I  really  think  he 
loved  him.  I  know  he  broke  down  and  cried,  and 
couldn't  go  on  with  his  remarks  when  he  tried  to  at 
tend  grandfather's  funeral." 

Here  Mrs.  Gerry  ceased  speaking  and  resumed  her 
seat. 


THE   MOTHER  215 

Mrs.  Darrah  quoted  in  a  half  whisper  those  lines : 

"  '  There's  many  a  purer  and  many  a  better, 
But  more  loved,  oh,  how  few,  love  !' " 

"  It  is  really  astonishing  and  depressing  that  we 
should  be  able  to  explain  so  little,"  she  went  on.  "  It 
isn't  goodness ;  in  short,  we  have  no  more  idea  now 
what  makes  a  person  inspire  so  much  love  than  they 
had  in  pre-Adamite  days,  when  I  imagine  they  never 
asked,  and  never  cared.  I  wish  we  did  not  ask  and 
did  not  care — since  there  is  no  answer — absolutely  no 
answer." 

The  woman  spoke  with  an  intensity  of  emphasis 
that  showed  that  she  was  thinking  of  something  in 
her  own  past. 

After  a  moment  she  glanced  at  Mrs.  Gerry,  who 
was  sitting  with  one  hand  over  her  eyes. 

"  I  suppose  your  grandmother  loved  that  man  ?" 
she  said. 

Mrs.  Gerry  looked  up. 

"Yes,  yes.  You  can  imagine.  And,  Mrs.  Uarrah, 
it  must  be  a  horrible,  horrible  thing  to  love  what  we 
don't  approve.  But  she  loved  him  from  the  first. 
We  never  knew  how  he  happened  to  stray  into  our 
village.  It  was  hay-making  time.  They  were  short 
of  hands.  This  fellow  came  walking  along  one  hot 
day  with  a  violin  under  his  arm.  He  said  he  would 
like  to  work.  They  took  him,  just  for  the  hay-mak 
ing.  I  don't  think  he  would  have  stayed  any  longer, 
only  he  saw  her,  you  know.  She  was  a  fair,  prim 
little  thing,  with  blue  eyes  and  ash -colored  hair. 
They  say  he  was  wild  with  love  for  her.  And  she  ? 
No  one  could  reason  with  her  in  the  least  from  the 


2l6  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

very  first.  She  had  a  will.  She  said  she  should  run 
away  and  marry  him  if  they  opposed  her.  They  knew 
she  would  do  it ;  so  they  gave  up  opposition.  And 
he  won  upon  them  all,  too.  But  how  could  they  ap 
prove  of  him  ?  And  they  never  knew  anything  about 
him — what  he  was,  or  where  he  came  from  —  only 
what  he  told  ;  and  he  did  not  always  tell  precisely  the 
same  stories.  And  how  he  would  play  on  the  fiddle  ! 
Strange  tunes  that  made  your  heart  beat  and  melt, 
and  that  took  your  breath  away  from  you." 

Mrs.  Gerry  paused  again.  She  spoke  in  a  kind  of 
spasmodic  way  as  the  memories  came  to  her. 

"  Oh,  how  you  interest  me !"  murmured  Mrs. 
Darrah. 

But  Mrs.  Gerry  did  not  appear  to  hear  her.  Her 
mind  was  in  the  past. 

"  How  did  it  come  out  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Darrah. 

"  Come  out  ?  Oh,  she  married  him.  But  how  was 
she  going  to  live  with  a  love  so  at  odds  with  her 
nature  and  her  upbringing  ?  She  could  not  stop  lov 
ing  him,  and  she  could  not  approve  of  him.  When 
my  mother  was  born  she  gave  up  the  fight  and  died — 
and  she  died  in  her  husband's  arms.  And  she  died 
telling  him  that  no  woman  ever  loved  a  man  as  she 
loved  him." 

"  But  he  lived — he  lived,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  bitterly. 
"  Yes  ;  life  wasn't  over  for  him." 

"  They  thought  it  was  over  for  a  long  time.  But, 
as  you  say,  he  lived.  And  he  loved  his  little  daughter 
in  a  way  that  made  some  of  the  people  wonder.  He 
was  still  a  young  man.  You  .might  have  thought  he 
would  have  grown  to  have  other  interests.  But  he 
never  looked  at  another  woman.  He  came  to  be  one 
of  the  regular  objects  of  the  village,  he  and  his  child, 


THE    MOTHER  217 

for  he  always  had  her  with  him.  She  grew  up  just 
like  her  mother.  She  never  told  a  lie,  or  prevari 
cated.  But  she  knew  that  he  did  both  ;  he  couldn't 
be  trusted.  I'm  sure  he  would  have  stolen,  or  forged, 
or  embezzled,  only  he  was  indolent ;  he  embarked  in 
no  schemes,  and  his  wife's  father  let  him  and  his  child 
live  with  his  family.  All  summer  he  basked  out-of- 
doors.  He  said  we  didn't  know  how  to  live.  It  was 
life  to  let  the  sun  soak  through  and  through  you,  and 
not  to  care  so  about  right  and  wrong.  Things  would 
take  care  of  themselves. 

"  How  many  times  I  have  heard  him  say,  with  his 
sweet  smile :  '  Things  will  take  care  of  themselves.' 
I  didn't  know  what  he  meant  then.  I  know  well 
enough  now." 

Mrs.  Gerry  came  to  another  pause. 

She  turned  to  the  woman  opposite  her.  The  reti 
cent,  solitary  mother  seemed  impelled  to  speak  out. 

"  Can  you  imagine  how  I  have  watched  my  daugh 
ter  ?''  she  exclaimed.  "  And,  more  than  that,  how  I 
have  tried  to  conceal  that  I  watched  her  ?  Not  even 
my  husband  has  ever  suspected  that  I  did  so,  and  I 
would  hardly  acknowledge  it  to  myself. 

"  But  she  was  always  such  a  good  child  !  I  thought 
she  was  too  conscientious.  I  almost  distrusted  that 
part  of  her  as  morbid.  She  was  morbid.  She  was 
never  a  strong  child.  She  seems  well  now,  really 
well.  You  can  have  no  idea  how  I  used  to  watch 
her.  When  I  grew  older  I  understood  what  the  min 
ister  said  that  hot  clay  to  my  mother.  He  said  some 
thing  about  heredity.  I  wondered  what  that  word 
meant.  And  he  hoped  that  only  the  gentle  traits 
would  be  transmitted.  My  mother  almost  groaned  as 
she  replied  that  she  hoped  so ;  that  it  would  kill 


2l8  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

her,  it  would  kill  my  father,  if  any  child  of  his  should 
inherit — there  I  lost  what  she  said.  I  know  well 
enough  now  what  it  was.  And  I  know  that  I  did 
not  inherit. 

"  Sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  that  sickly  kind  of 
regard  for  conscience,  Salome  would  say  a  word  or 
two  that  would  make  a  shudder  go  over  me.  That 
word  or  two  made  me  fear  that  her  conscience  was 
morbidly,  not  healthily,  alive.  But  she  is  such  a  good 
girl !  and  she  has  such  a  tender  heart!  And  she  is  so 
well  now— and  so  happy  ! 

"  Mrs.  Darrah,  I  insist  upon  your  telling  me  why  you 
wanted  to  ask  me  these  questions  about  grandpar 
ents."  Here  the  speaker  smiled  slightly.  "  What  has 
the  child  been  saying  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry's  face  was  set  in  a  determination  to  be 
answered. 

Mrs.  Darrah  took  up  a  note-book  and  began  turning 
its  leaves.  The  simply  bred  countrywoman  would  be 
no  match  for  the  woman  of  the  world  in  any  demand 
like  that. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  other,  easily,  "  she  hasn't  said 
much.  A  few  things  about  the  folly  of  being  in  a 
state  of  resistance  all  the  time  —  things  which  my 
niece  might  have  proclaimed  a  dozen  times  and  I 
should  hardly  have  listened.  But  you  are  aware  that 
Miss  Gerry  is  a  different  person  from  my  niece.  She 
is  excessively  interesting,  as  all  contradictory  natures 
are.  And  her  face — really,  if  I  were  a  young  man  I 
should  be  in  love  with  her ;  and,  being  in  love,  I 
should  be  driven  into  a  score  of  desperate  moods  every 
twenty-four  hours,  because  her  face  would  tell  me — 
good  heavens  ! — what  wouldn't  her  face  tell  me  ?" 

Mrs.  Darrah  ended  in  a  voice  of  undisguised  en- 


THE    MOTHER  2 19 

thusi'asm.  But  the  mother's  features  grew  almost 
rigid. 

"  Is  that  the  way  she  affects  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"  That  is  the  way  she  affects  me,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  I  have  always  distrusted  everything  that  was 
not  easily  read,"  responded  the  other.  "  I  distrust 
such  things  now."  And  silently  Mrs.  Gerry  cried  out : 
"  Oh,  what  is  best  for  my  child  ?" 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Darrah  had  never  been  more  deeply 
moved  to  pity  than  by  this  woman,  who  would  never 
have  asked  for  pity  from  any  one;  this  woman  who 
had  always  been  the  one  upon  whom  people  leaned, 
who  helped  people. 

If  the  mother  knew  what  her  daughter  had  done — 
worse  than  that,  if  the  mother  knew  the  serenity  of 
her  daughter's  mind  concerning  what  she  had  done ; 
these  were  the  words  which  were  going  through  Mrs. 
Darrah's  consciousness  as  she  looked  up  at  the  figure 
before  her. 

The  trained  observation  of  the  author  took  in  every 
detail  of  that  figure,  which,  in  its  unadorned  outline, 
was  like  a  visible  symbol  of  absolute,  transparent  in 
tegrity. 

"  She  would  grieve  to  death,"  was  Mrs.  Darrah's 
conclusion;  and  in  her  thought  she  added:  "  If  it  were 
twenty  times  the  sum  I  would  shield  the  child." 

Aloud  she  said,  in  answer  to  the  mother's  remark  : 

"There's  where  we  make  a  mistake — in  distrusting 
what  we  don't  understand.  If  people  couldn't  under 
stand  us,  we  would  not  wish  to  be  condemned,  per 
haps,  by  reason  of  their  stupidity." 

Mrs.  Gerry  looked  relieved. 

"That  is  true  ;  that  is  Christian,"  she  said. 

"  Certainly  it  is,"  lightly ;  "  and  now  it  strikes  me 


220  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

that  we  are  two  old  wiseacres  who  are  doubting  the 
ways  of  Providence.  Let  us  talk  of  something  cheerful 
— love,  for  instance.  That  beautiful  youth  whom  they 
called  Antinous — he  has  been  discriminating  enough 
to  fall  in  love  with  your  daughter  instead  of  with  my 
niece.  Tell  me  about  it.  It  is  quite  appropriate.  Of 
course  she  loves  him  ?" 

"Yes."  As  Mrs. Gerry  replied  her  face  lightened, 
as  faces  were  likely  to  do  when  their  owners  thought 
of  young  Moore. 

"  Now  that  is  pleasant  to  think  of ;  therefore  let  us 
think  of  it." 

But  Mrs.  Gerry  made  no  response.  She  could  not 
keep  her  mind  upon  Moore. 

She  turned  and  picked  up  the  black  straw  bonnet 
with  its  black  ribbon  bow  upon  it.  She  held  it 
thoughtfully  in  her  hands  a  moment,  her  worn,  anx 
ious  face  softening.  She  looked  up.  Then  she  ad 
vanced  and  held  out  her  hand,  which  Mrs.  Darrah 
took  and  cordially  retained. 

"  It's  curious  how  I  have  talked  to  you,"  Mrs. 
Gerry  said,  after  a  short  silence,  during  which  the  two 
women  gazed  at  each  other.  "  I  don't  think  I've 
talked  so  to  anybody  else  in  the  world.  Any  of  my 
folks  would  have  been  frightened.  They'd  have  thought 
Salome  was — why,  some  kind  of  a  criminal,  I  suppose. 
But  you — you  haven't  been  shocked.  You  have  done 
me  a  great  deal  of  good." 

There  came  a  very  lovely  light  into  the  woman's 
eyes  as  she  went  on  : 

"  I  didn't  know  before  how — how  good  it  might  be 
to  speak  out  so.  I  never  do  speak  out.  It  isn't  my 
way.  I  can't  seem  to  do  it.  But  it  does  relieve  one, 
doesn't  it  ? — if  it  is  to  the  right  person." 


THE    MOTHER  221 

There  was  a  naivete  in  the  woman's  voice  and  man 
ner  which  appealed  to  her  hostess,  and  made  her 
grasp  the  hard,  brown  hand  still  more  closely  as  she 
rose  from  among  her  cushions. 

"  You  self-contained  creatures,"  she  said,  "  always 
take  life  in  such  a  hard  way.  You  lock  things  up  in 
your  own  souls.  Now  my  advice  to  you  is :  never  have 
a  thing  locked  up  in  your  own  soul.  Tell  everything. 
Talk  of  everything.  You  have  no  idea  what  an  airy, 
light,  care-free  kind  of  a  sensation  will  be  yours.  It's 
like  letting  breeze  and  sunlight  into  a  close  room.  Try 
it,  you  close,  reticent,  Yankee  woman." 

Mrs.  Gerry  smiled. 

"  I  have  tried  it,  and  I  am  better  already,"  she 
said. 

"  And  don't  worry  because  your  daughter  is  a  mixed 
creature — a  Yankee  and  a  heat  -  loving  Creole,  and 
what  not.  She  must  live  out  her  life,  as  we  must  live 
ours.  If  ours  goes  in  a  straight  line — well,  how  much 
thanks  to  us  for  that  ?" 

"  But  I  want  Salome  to  be  good  !"  cried  her  mother, 
out  of  a  full  heart. 

"  And  happy,"  supplemented  the  other. 

"  And  happy,"  repeated  Mrs.  Gerry.  "  And  now  I 
must  go.  How  strangely  I  .have  talked  to  you,"  she 
repeated.  "  Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  and  be  sure  you  don't  try  to  understand 
everything." 

"  I  shall  be  sure  I  can't  understand,  anyway,  try  or 
not."  And  Mrs.  Gerry  walked  away  from  the  hotel,  be 
ginning  her  journey  back  to  the  truck  farm  without 
even  glancing  out  across  the  water,  or  at  the  old  fort, 
or  up  at  the  sky,  which  was  now  bending  at  its  very 
loveliest  over  the  old  city. 


222  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

She  trudged  along,  her  parasol  held  at  exactly  the 
right  angle,  her  face  straight  forward,  and  gradually 
growing  red  with  the  heat. 

Half-way  through  the  palmetto  she  saw  some  one 
sitting  at  the  root  of  a  pine  with  head  thrown  back, 
hat  off,  and  rings  of  hair  blowing  about  her  forehead. 
It  was  Salome.  She  did  not  rise  as  she  saw  her 
mother;  she  smiled  and  waved  her  hand.  And  when 
her  mother  had  come  still  nearer,  she  reached  forward 
and  grasped  a  fold  of  her  skirt,  saying  : 

"  Sit  down  here  with  me.  You  look  so  tired,  and  I 
am  so  rested  ;  come.  There,  that  is  right.  Now  you 
are  obeying  me  as  you  ought.  Put  your  head  on  my 
shoulder  for  a  moment.  You  are  always  resting  me 
some  way;  now  let  us  turn  about." 

Yielding  to  the  gently  compelling  gesture,  Mrs. 
Gerry  leaned  her  head  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  and  the 
girl  looked  down  at  her  with  a  smile  that  was  so  in 
tensely  happy  that  it  almost  alarmed  the  woman  who 
saw  it,  for  she  felt  that,  as  she  would  have  phrased  it, 
"it  was  not  natural  to  be  so  happy  as  that." 

"I  thought  it  was  time  for  you,"  said  Salome,  speak 
ing  in  a  kind  of  murmur.  "  I've  been  sitting  here  a 
long  time  ;  not  that  it  seemed  long,  you  know.  I'm 
not  sure  that  I  should  ever  want  to  leave  here.  Don't 
you  think,  mother,  that  there  is  any  kind  of  animal 
that  lives  entirely  on  Southern  air  and  Southern  sun 
shine  ?" 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  creature,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  there  must  be,  don't  you  think  ?"  went  on  the 
girl.  "And  that's  what  I  should  be  if  the  talk  about 
reincarnation  were  true  and  I  could  have  my  choice. 
When  I  die  I  should  like  to  come  back  as  some  live 
thing  that  could  always  be  in  tropical  sunlight ;  could 


THE    MOTHER  223 

always  hear  the  hot  wind  in  the  tops  of  trees  and  the 
warm  ocean  coming  against  heated  sands." 

Salome's  eyes  met  her  mother's  as  she  ceased  speak 
ing.  Mrs.  Gerry  had  raised  her  head.  She  was  star 
tled  and  terrified  at  the  look  of  languor  and  of  fire  in 
the  child's  glance.  And  then  she  asked  herself  why 
she  should  be  terrified  ?  Was  it  abnormal  that  the 
young,  susceptible  nature  should  be  so  moved  by  its 
environment,  by  the  flow  of  renewed  life  ? 

Solome  threw  her  arm  over  her  mother's  neck. 

"  Don't  look  so  frightened,"  she  said  ;  "  I  don't  be 
lieve  in  reincarnation.  I'm  perfectly  orthodox,  I  sup 
pose.  But  really,  mother,  shouldn't  you  think  a  tiger, 
for  instance,  '  burning  bright,'  would  be  very  happy  ?" 

"  No,  I  shouldn't !"  with  great  decision. 

Salome  laughed  gently.  She  kissed  her  mother's 
cheek. 

"  Oh,  what  a  Northern  woman  you  are  !"  she  ex 
claimed.  And  then,  after  a  pause,  "But  I  shall  never 
be  a  Northern  woman  again." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  sharply. 

"  I  mean  that  I  would  not  live  North  ;  I  couldn't," 
shuddering.  "  Do  you  think  I  would  go  back  there 
after  having  been  under  such  a  sky  as  this  ?  Look  up 
into  the  heavens,  mother.  Oh,  life  is  worth  living  here. 
Only  I'm  afraid  I  shall  love  life  too  well.  Do  you 
think  I  shall  ?  Tell  me,  do  you  think  I  shall  ?" 

"  It  is  natural  and  proper  to  love  life,"  Mrs.  Gerry 
replied,  somewhat  primly.  She  felt  that  her  child  was 
getting  away  from  her  in  some  way.  She  wanted  to 
reach  out  frantically  after  her,  but  she  could  not. 

"Natural  and  proper!"  repeated  the  girl.  "I  begin 
to  think  that  I  am  unnatural  and  improper.  But  I 
can't  be  really  wrong,  since  you  are  my  mother,"  with 


224  TIIE   Two    SALOMES 

another  caress.  "Only,  you  see,  I  can't  even  imagine 
that  I  could  live  North  again.  I  did  not  live  there  ; 
I  hated  it." 

"  But  in  the  summer,"  began  Mrs.  Gerry — "  think 
how  it  would  be  here  in  the  summer." 

"  Yes ;  I  have  thought,"  replied  the  girl.  "  It 
would  be  hot — hot.  It  would  be  delightful.  And  I 
suppose  I  should  never  cough  again.  I  should  always 
be  as  well  as  I  am  now.  I  was  never  well  before  in 
my  life.  I  was  only  a  '  little  more  comfortable,'  or 
'  not  quite  so  comfortable.'  You  and  father  will  have 
to  move  down  here.  Father  might  have  an  orange 
grove  on  the  Indian  River,  or  he  might  learn  of  Mr. 
Maine  how  to  raise  truck." 

Salome  laughed  again  at  this  last  thought,  and  her 
mother  smiled  faintly. 

"And  what  about  Mr.  Moore?"  asked  the  elder 
woman.  "  Have  you  told  him  ?" 

"  Not  yet.  But  I  shall  tell  him.  He  must  arrange 
some  way.  I've  been  thinking  that  we  must  all  live 
on  the  Gulf  coast.  They  say  it  is  cold  here  some 
times,  after  Christmas.  And  I  will  never,  never  en 
dure  the  cold  again.  It  is  like  death  to  be  cold." 

Salome  was  now  leaning  back  against  the  tree. 
The  two  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time.  Mrs.  Gerry  was 
trying  to  rest,  and  at  the  same  time  she  was  trying  to 
cast  out  of  her  mind  the  formless  fears  which  invaded 
it.  She  was  continually  telling  herself  that  she  need 
not  be  anxious  about  the  fancies  of  an  imaginative 
girl.  But  the  fact  which  griped  her  hard  and  relent 
lessly  was  the  fact  that  she  herself  had  never  been  in 
the  least  as  Salome  was  now.  She  had  never  had 
that  nature  ;  she  could  not  understand  it ;  she  had  to 
own,  with  a  sick  feeling  which  was  worst  of  all,  that 


THE   MOTHER  225 

she  was  repelled  by  it.  However  sympathetic  we 
may  be,  what  we  have  not  felt,  what  we  cannot  feel, 
remains  forever  beyond  the  pale  of  our  sympathy; 
beyond  our  judgment.  And  then  love  becomes  a 
torture.  It  was  a  torture  at  this  moment  to  Mrs. 
Gerry.  She  could  not  understand  ;  but  her  love  for 
her  child  was  so  keen  and  so  strong  that  it  seemed 
to  her  that  God  would  not  be  so  cruel  as  not  to  give 
her  understanding  of  her  daughter's  heart.  She  felt 
as  if  she  were  thrust  out,  not  by  Salome's  will,  but  by 
a  bitter  and  inexorable  something  for  which  no  one 
was  responsible. 

These  events,  these  combinations  for  which  no  one 
is  responsible,  how  unbearable  they  seem  sometimes  ! 

After  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Gerry  began  to  tell  how 
kind  Mrs.  Darrah  had  been,  and  how  relieved  they 
would  all  be  that  Uncle  John  could  be  paid. 

Salome,  with  her  head  against  the  tree,  watched  her 
mother  with  interest.  She  was  thinking  all  the  time 
of  the  check  she  had  signed,  and  she  was  telling  her 
self  that  she  was  perfectly  positive  that  it  was  wrong 
for  her  to  have  done  that.  Yes,  she  knew  it  was 
wrong  ;  but  she  wondered  why  she  did  not  feel  that  it 
was  an  evil  thing  to  do.  She  had  no  feeling  whatever 
in  that  direction.  But  she  knew.  She  knew  how  the 
wind  blew  over  the  snow-banks  at  home  in  midwinter ; 
but  she  did  not  feel  it,  and  she  meant  never  again  to 
feel  it.  What  was  the  use  ?" 

An  impulse  to  explain  to  her  mother  came  to  her. 
It  was  difficult  to  think  that  Mrs.  Gerry  could  feel 
differently  from  what  she  herself  felt. 

"Of  course  I  shall  tell  her  some  time,"  she  thought. 
"  But  I  will  wait.  She  will  be  grieved ;  and  why 
should  I  grieve  her  ?  But  how  lovely  everything  has 
15 


226  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

come  out !  If  I  had  waited  I  might  not  have  been  in 
time  with  that  money.  I  wonder  what  Portia  would 
say  to  what  I  have  done  ?  Portia  is  not  so  particular 
about  her  conscience  as  mother  is,  or  as  mother  used 
to  teach  me  to  be.  I  must  tell  Portia." 

The  day  was  already  ended  when  the  two  women 
left  their  place  by  the  tree.  The  sun  had  gone  down 
in  a  red  sky  ;  the  flat  stretch  of  country  lay  in  a  warm 
calm  under  the  rapidly  growing  moonlight.  The 
birds  were  flying  in  the  long,  blue  spaces  towards  the 
west.  The  frogs  were  croaking. 

The  two  walked  on  hand  in  hand. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  about  living  here,"  Salome 
was  saying — "  one  thing  which  is  not  so  pleasant,  I 
mean." 

She  swung  her  mothers  hand  back  and  forth  as 
she  spoke.  She  was  smiling,  but  her  eyes  were 
slightly  anxious. 

"Two  things,  I  should  say,"  responded  Mrs.  Gerry, 
who  had  now  fully  resumed  her  cheerfulness  ;  "  and 
they  are  Mr.  Job  Maine  and  Mrs.  Job  Maine." 

"  But  they  are  one,"  was  the  retort,  "  don't  you 
know.  And  she  married  him  for  love.  I  don't  mean 
them  ;  I  mean  the  crows,  mother." 

Mrs.  Gerry  turned  and  looked  full  in  the  girl's  face. 

"  The  crows  ?" 

"  Yes ;  they  will  sometimes  fly  over  my  head,  and 
between  me  and  the  lovely  blue  sky.  I  wish  they 
wouldn't." 


XIII 

AN    ENGAGEMENT 

MRS.  GERRY  was  conscious  of  a  very  helpless  feel 
ing  when  she  heard  her  daughter  make  that  remark 
about  the  crows.  She  replied  that  she  supposed  that 
the  crows  must  fly  somewhere. 

"  Oh  yes,  mother,"  said  Salome,  earnestly ;  "  but 
not  between  me  and  the  sunlight,  and  when  I  am 
with — "  she  hesitated  ;  then  she  went  on,  "when  I  am 
with  Randolph  Moore." 

Having  said  this,  Salome  lapsed  into  silence. 

The  wind  seemed  to  be  rising  from  the  east.  The 
waves  began  to  pound  on  the  farther  side  of  Anastasia. 
The  light  from  the  large  moon  made  the  sand  glisten 
sharply.  The  stiff  spikes  of  a  Spanish  bayonet-tree 
shone  with  a  hostile  aspect.  But  the  air  was  sweet 
with  an  intoxicating  mingling  of  odors. 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  becoming  more  and  more  de 
pressed. 

Suddenly  from  the  direction  of  the  truck  farm 
which  they  were  now  approaching  they  heard  the 
drawling,  nasal  tones  of  their  landlord  : 

"  I've  ben  aimin'  to  hang  that  thur  do'  for  some 
weeks  now,"  Mr.  Maine  said,  "  but  I'm  so  kinder 
crowded  with  work,  'n'  my  wife  she's  continually 
needin'  wood  cut,  or  sumpthin'.  A  man  can't  'com- 
plish  nothin',  if  he  has  er  wife.  Women  ain't  no 


228  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

consideration.  Course,  you  c'n  hang  them  do1  if  you 
want  er.  I  sha'n't  put  nothin'  in  thur  way  of  yer 
hangin'  them  do1.  I  ain't  thur  man  to  put  nothin'  in 
no  other  man's  way,  I  ain't." 

"  All  right,"  responded  a  clear,  energetic  voice. 
"Then  I'll  do  it.  I've  been  aiming  to  hang  it,  too. 
Only  I  never  could  think  of  the  confounded  screws 
and  things.  But  I've  got  them  this  time.  Come, 
Maine,  hold  up  the  door,  can't  you,  while  I  measure 
about  these  hinges  ?" 

The  two  women  had  paused  involuntarily  at  sound 
of  that  voice,  for  both  recognized  it  as  belonging  to 
Moore. 

Salome's  grasp  tightened  on  her  mother's  hand. 
Into  the  girl's  eyes  there  sprang  a  new  light 

"  It  is  Mr.  Moore,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry's  calm  tones. 
"  So  he  has  come  back." 

The  elder  woman  walked  forward,  but  Salome 
lingered  for  a  moment  under  the  banana  shrub.  She 
saw  Moore  drop  his  tools  and  turn  eagerly.  She  saw 
that,  while  he  greeted  her  mother,  his  glance  sprang 
to  her. 

She  came  forward  demurely  now,  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

She  said  she  hoped  he  had  had  a  successful  trip. 
Had  he  sold  many  goods  ? 

Moore  held  her  hand.  She  repeated  her  question 
about  the  goods. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "I  believe  so  ;  that 
is,  I  forget.  I'm  sure  I  don't  care." 

Salome  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand,  but  could  not. 

"  Not  care  ?"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  aren't  you  afraid 
that  those  people  who  employ  you  will  turn  you  off  ?" 

"No  ;  I  am  only  afraid  that  you  are  not  sufficiently 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  229 

glad  to  see  me.  I  have  been  gone  for  months — 
years." 

"  You  have  been  gone  five  days  and  about  three- 
quarters  of  a  day." 

"Then  the  time  lias  seemed  as  short  as  that  to 
you  ?"  in  a  melancholy  tone. 

"  Time  has  literally  flown  with  me." 

"  Salome  !" 

"  Mr.  Moore  !" 

"  Oh,  how  inconsiderate  you  are  !" 

"  Inconsiderate  because  time  has  flown  ?  Would 
you  have  had  it  drag?  Would  you  have  had  me  suffer 
— hanging  my  head  and  weeping  because  you  were 
travelling  about  and  enjoying  yourself  ?  Tell  me 
that !" 

The  girl  laughed  gently.  Her  eyes  shone  humidly. 
She  was  afraid  ;  her  happiness  made  her  tremble  and 
draw  aloof. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  suffer,"  said  Moore,  gazing  at 
her  wistfully.  He  thought  he  had  not  half  known 
how  attractive  she  was  to  him  ;  and  that  moonlight — 
or  was  it  the  moonlight  ? 

The  black  and  white  hound  came  from  within  the 
hut  and  stood  by  the  two,  looking  up  and  wagging 
his  tail. 

Salome  bent  down  to  stroke  his  head.  But  Moore 
did  not  notice  the  animal ;  he  did  not  know  the  dog 
had  come. 

"  Thank  you  for  not  wanting  me  to  suffer,"  was  the 
somewhat  airy  response. 

The  young  man  stood  in  silence.  He  was  puzzled 
and  grieved.  But  he  would  not  relinquish  the  girl's 
hand. 

He  had  lived  their  meeting  over  and  over,  and  his 


230  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

imagination  had  not  once  made  it  in  the  least  like 
this. 

He  drew  his  companion  away  among  the  pine-trees, 
Jack  following  with  his  head  hanging. 

Moore  thought  he  would  try  a  more  matter-of-fact 
kind  of  conversation.  He  put  Salome's  hand  through 
his  arm.  He  endeavored  not  to  look  at  her  for  a 
moment,  but  he  found  his  eyes  constantly  returning  to 
her  face. 

He  was  telling  himself  that  he  loved  her  a  thou 
sandfold  more  than  when  he  had  seen  her  last. 

But  he  began  bravely  on  his  matter-of-fact  topic. 

"  I  had  a  disagreeable  kind  of  a  piece  of  work  down 
in  Tampa,"  he  said.  "  There's  a  fellow  there  who 
has  been  using  our  firm's  name.  He  has  done  it  twice. 
But  the  last  time  was  once  too  many.  Our  Mr.  Don 
aldson  wired  me  to  act  my  own  judgment — said  he 
wouldn't  overlook  it  again,  even  though  the  man  had 
a  wife  who  would  be  likely  to  die  of  shame.  He 
couldn't  help  that.  I  had  to  do  the  whole  thing.  It 
was  of  no  use  to  deny — so  the  wretch  confessed.  He 
cried  and  sobbed.  I  should  have  let  him  off,  but  I 
knew  Donaldson  too  well  to  do  that." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  the  man  had  forged  ?''  asked 
the  girl. 

"Yes.  He  was  in  an  awfully  tight  place.  But  of 
course  he  is  a  scamp." 

"  A  scamp  ?" 

"  Yes,  certainly.  It's  no  good  to  be  weak  about 
those  things.  But  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  to  be  the 
one  to  get  an  officer  to  nab  a  poor  wretch  again,  and 
I  won't,  either.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  a  criminal  myself. 
It  was  heart-breaking,  and  then  his  wife — no,  I  swear 
I'll  never  be  mixed  up  in  such  an  affair  again  !  You 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  231 

see,  I'm  too  soft.  I  can't  see  people  suffer  —  and  I 
thought  of  you,  Salome.  But  I'm  thinking  of  you  al 
ways.  I  thought  of  how  your  kind  heart  would  grieve 
for  that  woman — and  for  the  man,  too  ;  and  I  hated 
myself  —  and  yet  I  was  doing  right.  Why  do  you 
sometimes  hate  yourself  when  you  are  doing  right  ?" 

Salome  did  not  answer.  She  had  clasped  her  other 
hand  over  her  companion's  arm,  and  was  now  really 
leaning  upon  him. 

Moore  looked  down  at  her.  He  forgot  what  he  had 
been  talking  about.  Why  should  he  remember,  when 
at  last  she  glanced  up  at  him  ? 

But  she  did  not  let  the  subject  drop. 

"  You  said  he  forged  ?''  she  asked.  She  hung  upon 
his  arm. 

"  Yes  ;  but  don't  let  us  talk  about  him  any  more. 
You  see,  I  was  driven  to  saying  something  because — 
because  you  didn't  seem  glad  to  see  me." 

"  Not  glad  to  see  you  ?'' 

She  touched  her  cheek  for  an  instant  against  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat.  But  when  he  bent  eagerly  over 
her  she  withdrew  a  little  and  said  : 

"  But  I  want  to  talk  more  about  that  man." 

"  What  man  ?" 

"  Why,  the  forger.     I  suppose  it  is  a  crime  ?" 

"Well,  I  should  think  so!  And  a  particularly 
mean,  underhanded  crime,  too— to  use  another  per 
son's  name." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  the  girl ;  "  but  somehow 
it  doesn't  shock  me  as  it  ought.  But,  of  course,  I 
know — I  know." 

Moore  stopped  in  their  slow  walk.  He  looked  sur 
prised. 

"  Why  on  earth  should  we  talk  about  forgers  when 


232  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

we  haven't  seen  each  other  for — for  months  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  For  five  and  three-quarter  days,"  was  the  reply  ; 
and  she  smiled  at  him.  \Yhile  she  still  smiled  she 
continued,  "  But  I  have  a  special  interest  in  forgers." 

"Why?" 

"You  will  be  extremely  shocked  if  I  tell  you." 

Moore's  surprise  increased.  "  What  a  curious  girl 
you  are." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  must  be."  She  gazed  up  at  him 
now  with  a  deep  seriousness.  "  Still,"  she  went  on, 
"  you  think  you — you  think  you  care  for  me  ?" 

"Think?  I  am  sure.  It  seems  to  me  there  is 
nothing  else  I  care  for  in  the  world." 

He  spoke  with  impetuous  quickness. 

"  Oh  yes,  there  is  something  else,"  lightly,  though 
with  the  serious  look  still  in  her  eyes. 

"  What  is  that  ?  But  you  are  mistaken,  Salome," 
earnestly. 

"  Am  I  ?  But  don't  you  care  to  sell  a  large  bill  of 
goods  ?  Isn't  that  \\hat  you  call  it  ?" 

Moore  laughed  joyfully.  He  pressed  his  hand  over 
her  clasped  hands  on  his  arm. 

"Who  told  you  that  ?"  he  asked.  "  I  believe  I  am 
a  tolerably  good  drummer-boy.  That's  why  I  get  a 
good  salary.  That's  why  I  shall  be  able  to  take  care 
of  you,  Salome ;  why,  I  am  able  now  ;  we  might  be 
married  directly.  I  will  ask  your  mother.  Let  us  ask 
her  now;  there  is  not  the  slightest  use  in  waiting." 

He  spoke  hurriedly.  He  had  that  fear  so  common 
to  lovers  that  something  dreadful  would  immediately 
happen  to  separate  him  from  the  woman  he  loved. 

"  How  foolish  you  are  !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  in  re 
sponse.  "Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  hustled 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  233 

from  one  hand  to  another  like — well,  like  a  bill  of 
goods  ?  No,  indeed.  I  can't  be  married  for  a  long 
time  to  come." 

"Why  not?" 

"There  are  a  thousand  reasons." 

"  Give  me  one  of  them." 

"  I'm  going  to  be  Mrs.  Darrah's  amanuensis  for  a 
number  of  years.  I'm  learning  shorthand  and  type 
writing  ;  I  intend  to  be  very  useful  to  her." 

Moore  looked  about  him  in  the  moonlight  as  if 
hopelessly  trying  to  find  some  answer  to  Salome's 
words.  But  he  found  none. 

"About  how  many  years,  if  I  may  ask,  do  you 
expect  to  work  for  Mrs.  Darrah  ?" 

He  put  this  inquiry  with  a  great  appearance  of 
calmness. 

"  I  haven't  quite  decided.    Several,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Have  you  signed  a  contract — have  you  sold  your 
self,  as  they  used  to  sell  themselves  to  Satan  ?"  with 
an  increase  of  vehemence. 

"  Who  used  to  sell  themselves  to  Satan,  Mr.  Moore? 
And  Mrs.  Darrah  is  very  far  from  being  like  Satan." 

"  If  she  keeps  you  from  me  she  is  worse  than 
Satan,"  said  Moore,  with  more  sharpness  in  his  tone 
than  the  girl  had  ever  heard  before.  He  made  an  un 
controllable  gesture  of  anger  as  he  continued,  "  But 
what  can  you  expect  of  an  authoress?  Women  have 
no  business  to — 

"Don't  say  ridiculous  things,  Mr.  Moore,"  inter 
rupted  Salome ;  "  I  would  write  books  myself  if  I 
could." 

"  But  you  can't — thank  fortune  !" 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I 
could,"  was  the  reply. 


234  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Moore  tried  to  regain  his  temper.  He  could  hardly 
tell  why  he  felt  so  deeply  irritated. 

"  You  know  what  Alphonse  Karr  says  ?"  he  re 
marked,  with  some  lightness. 

"  No  ;  I  don't  know  what  any  one  says — least  of  all 
Alphonse  Karr." 

"  He  says  that  a  woman  who  writes  a  book  is  guilty 
of  two  crimes  :  she  increases  the  number  of  books 
and  decreases  the  number  of  women." 

"  Then  I  hate  Alphonse  Karr!" 

After  this  from  Salome  there  was  silence.  The 
two  continued  to  walk  on  between  the  trees  where 
the  moonlight  fell  in  broad  patches  on  the  wiry 
grass. 

The  hound  paced  on  behind  them. 

Salome  had  now  withdrawn  her  hand  from  her 
companion's  arm.  She  looked  removed  from  him. 

Moore's  nature  was  too  essentially  sweet  for  him 
to  remain  long  in  anger.  But  this  meeting  was  so 
different  from  what  he  had  anticipated.  He  could 
hardly  tell  why  he  felt  so  heart-sore. 

How  coolly  Salome  had  spoken  of  remaining  a 
number  of  years  with  Mrs.  Darrah  !  Of  course  she 
did  not  care  for  him  at  all  as  he  cared  for  her.  He 
did  not  suppose  that  women  knew  much  about  how 
to  love.  Women  were  so  cold,  and — and  mysterious. 

At  this  point  in  his  thoughts  Moore  took  the  girl's 
hand  and  kissed  it  with  the  utmost  gentleness. 

"  I  suppose  I've  been  wrong  some  way,"  he  said. 
"Men  are  so  stupid — that  is,  we  are  called  stupid." 

"  But  you  don't  feel  stupid  ?"  asked  Salome. 

"  Don't  let's  speak  in  that  way  any  more.  Salome, 
you  don't  know  how  I  love  you,"  with  kindling  eyes, 
"and  I  thought,  I  hoped—  Dearest,  do  you  think 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  235 

you  do  care  for  me  so  that  in  time  you  will  care  a 
great  deal  ?" 

Salome  drew  back.  She  pressed  her  hands  together 
while  she  looked  at  her  lover. 

"  Don't  you  know  how  that  will  end  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Don't  you  know  ?  It  will  end  in  my  loving  you 
infinitely  more  than  you  love  me.  I  have  read 
that — and  now  I  am  sure  of  it.  Yes,  now  I  am  sure 
of  it." 

"  That  is  impossible  !  Impossible  !"  cried  Moore. 
"  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I—" 

Salome  drew  away  with  a  decided  movement. 

"  You  know  I  told  you  I  wanted  to  talk  more  about 
that  forger,"  she  said. 

Moore  stared.  His  face  fell.  He  had  poignant 
sense  of  being  baffled.  He  almost  felt  that  he  was 
being  trifled  with.  But  when  he  saw  the  girl's  face 
he  was  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

The  young  man  made  a  great  effort  and  took  him 
self  in  hand. 

"Well,"  he  responded,  "  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  all 
you  have  to  say  about  the  forger." 

Salome  now  came  a  little  nearer. 

"Did  he  feel  very  badly?"  she  asked,  with  great 
interest. 

"Yes;  he  did." 

Moore  was  deciding  in  his  own  mind  that  he  was 
entirely  helpless  in  her  hands.  And  he  was  remem 
bering  with  a  kind  of  despairing  thrill  that  moment 
some  days  ago  when  she  had  voluntarily  told  him 
that  she  loved  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
thought  of  nothing  but  her  words,  her  tone,  and  her 
face  when  she  had  spoken  thus. 

And  now  here  she  was  insisting  upon  talking  of 


236  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

that  miserable  incident.     He  was  very  sorry  he  had 
mentioned  that  man. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  girl,  "  that  was  because  some 
body  was  going  to  suffer  for  what  he  had  done  —his 
wife,  for  instance." 

"  Perhaps,"  was  the  answer,  "  and  perhaps  he  was 
repenting." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  ?  It  wasn't  so  very  bad ;  I 
suppose  your  firm  are  able  to  bear  the  loss  without 
much  inconvenience  ?" 

This  time  Moore  stared  harder  than  ever. 

"  It  will  not  inconvenience  us  very  much,"  he 
answered. 

"  Then  why  do  you  make  such  a  fuss  over  it  ?"  in 
quired  Salome. 

"  I  didn't  know  I  had  made  a  fuss."  Moore  hoped 
that  he  should  not  become  any  more  confused  than 
he  was  now.  Of  course  she  was  playing  upon  him. 
It  was  all  very  strange. 

"You  said  that  it  was  a  mean,  underhanded  kind 
of  a  crime,"  now  remarked  the  girl. 

"So  it  is." 

"  I  must  say  that  I  have  a  great  sympathy  for  that 
man,"  said  Salome. 

Moore  caught  eagerly  at  this. 

"  That  is  because  you  have  such  a  kind  heart !"  he 
exclaimed. 

"  No,  it  isn't  that,"  she  said. 

"  Isn't  that  ?" 

"  No.     But  I  shall  shock  you  if  I  tell  you  why." 

"  Don't  mind  about  shocking  me,"  he  replied,  with 
a  hint  of  bitterness,  "  but  tell  me." 

She  came  nearer  to  him,  she  put  her  hand  on  his 
breast. 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  237 

"  Well,  it  is  this,"  she  said :  "  it  is  because  I  don't 
care  about  right  and  wrong." 

His  arm  had  gone  round  her  quickly  when  she  had 
approached  him. 

She  leaned  against  him  with  a  movement  full  of 
tenderness  and  trust. 

"No  ;  I  don't,"  she  went  on.  "  Now,  are  you  sure 
you  care  for  me  ?" 

Before  he  could  give  the  ardent  answer  which  rose 
to  his  lips,  she  continued  : 

"  You  remember  I  told  you  that  I  didn't  care  for 
the  higher  spiritual  life  either." 

"  Salome — "  he  began,  but  she  would  not  let  him 
go  on. 

"  I  know  what  it  will  be  when  you  get  away  from 
me  ;  you  will  begin  to  think  of  what  I  have  told  you — 
and  it's  the  truth — and  you  will  wonder  about  me, 
and  ask  yourself  if  you  ought  to  love  me ;  and,  by- 
and-by,  sometimes,  when  you  ask  yourself  this  ques 
tion,  you  will  answer :  '  I  almost  wish  I  had  loved 
some  one  else ;  perhaps  some  one  else  would  have 
made  me  happier.'  That's  what  you  will  think.  No, 
no,  don't  interrupt  me  !  And  if  you  should  come 
to  that  conclusion  after  we  are  married  —  do  you 
know  what  a  dreadful  thing  that  would  be  ?  I 
could  not  bear  that.  I  certainly  could  not  bear 
that." 

As  she  ceased  speaking  Salome  laid  her  head  on 
Moore's  shoulder.  She  sobbed.  But  she  controlled 
herself  immediately  and  was  perfectly  quiet,  while  her 
companion  held  her  closely  and  poured  out  tenderly 
emphatic  assurances,  the  words  coming  from  a  full 
and  sincere  heart. 

At  last  Salome  lifted  her  face  and  spoke.     But  her 


238  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

words  did  not  seem  to  have  any  reference  to  what 
Moore  had  just  been  saying. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  that  I  don't  seem  to  have 
any  conscience.  If  I'm  not  going  to  have  enough  to 
make  me  good  I  would  rather  not  have  any.  It 
wouldn't  be  agreeable  to  have  just  enough  conscience 
to  torment  one,  but  not  enough  to  keep  one  right." 

Moore  held  the  girl  at  arm's-length  for  an  instant. 
His  face  was  radiant  with  happiness.  Of  course 
these  were  the  vagaries  of  a  too  sensitive  spirit. 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  he  said,  with  the  sublime  confi 
dence  of  youth  and  love.  "  I  can  face  any  destiny 
except  the  destiny  which  takes  you  from  me." 

"  Do  you  really  feel  sure  of  that  ?''  she  whispered. 

"  Yes  ,  absolutely  sure." 

"  And  I  need  not  worry  any  more  about  it  ?" 

"  No,  no.  Why,  Salome,  I  don't  understand  you. 
You  are  morbid." 

There  was  that  in  Moore's  tone  and  face  which 
could  not  fail  to  co'mfort  the  girl. 

"  No,  I  am  not  morbid  now,"  she  responded.  "  I 
used  to  be,  up  North,  before  I  was  really  alive.  But 
now — " 

She  bent  her  head  to  his  shoulder  again. 

"  Now  ?"  he  repeated,  bending  over  her. 

She  pressed  her  face  still  closer  against  him. 

"  Now,"  she  answered,  in  a  mufiled  voice,  "  I  am 
trying  to  endure  your  presence,  Mr.  Moore." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  beginning  so  early,"  he  said, 
"  for  you  will  be  obliged  to  endure  my  presence  for 
years  and  years — as  long  as  we  both  live." 

"  I  hope  so,"  from  his  shoulder. 

Then  Salome  suddenly  raised  her  face  and  quickly 
passed  her  hand  across  her  eyes. 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  239 

"  What  discipline  it  will  be  !"  she  exclaimed.  "And 
I  am  afraid  I  have  been  a  little  —  a  very  little  senti 
mental,  Mr.  Moore." 

"  You  certainly  have,  Miss  Gerry." 

"I  take  it  all  back." 

"  No  ;  you  shall  not  take  a  word  back,"  firmly. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  tyrant,1'  standing 
away  from  him. 

"  I  am.  It  is  well  for  you  to  learn  that  fact  early. 
Oh,"  with  a  quick  break  in  his  voice,  "  how  happy  I 


am 


Salome  was  a  few  paces  from  him,  her  hands  hang 
ing  by  her  side.  She  stood  in  a  space  of  moonlight. 
Was  it  that  light  which  made  her  have  at  that  mo 
ment  a  certain  intangible  appearance — as  if  she  were 
more  spirit  than  flesh  ? 

"And  you  don't  care  to  talk  about  the  forger  any 
more  ?"  Moore  inquired. 

"  I  never  want  to  think  of  him  again,"  with  a  swift 
gesture  of  her  left  hand.  "  But,"  she  added,  as  if  un 
der  a  strong  impulse,"  I  don't  blame  him.  Perhaps — 

Moore  waited  in  silence.  He  was  not  now  think 
ing  of  the  forger,  though  he  had  mentioned  him 
again. 

"  Perhaps,"  went  on  Salome,  "  it  was  a  kind  of  re 
action  some  way,  and  he  may  have  done  it  for  some 
one  he  loved.  No  ;  I  don't  blame  him  in  the  least. 
Are  they  going  to  put  him  in  prison,  Mr.  Moore  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so.  But  are  we  going  to  keep  right  on 
conversing  on  this  topic  ?'' 

"  Oh  no.  Let  us  walk  down  to  the  Sebastian  ;  or, 
rather,  let  us  go  back,  and  you  may  finish  hanging 
our  door,  and  then  you  will  be  making  yourself  useful, 
while  we  may  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  conversation." 


240  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

"  But  I  would  rather  go  to  the  Sebastian.  Even 
that  stream  will  be  beautiful  in  this  moonlight,  and 
we  may  enjoy  being  romantic." 

"  No  ;  we  have  had  that  kind  of  thing  sufficient  for 
to-night.  Think  how  this  light  will  serve  for  putting 
on  those  hinges." 

"  Hear  her  talk  of  that  kind  of  thing  !  Of  hinges  !" 
cried  Moore,  looking  round  him  as  if  for  an  audience. 

His  spirits  were  so  high  that  if  he  had  been  in  the 
least  superstitious  he  would  have  felt  some  fear  min 
gled  with  his  exaltation. 

"  Don't  speak  disrespectfully  of  the  very  light  of 
life,  Salome,  even  in  jest.  But  I  will  make  a  bargain 
with  you.  I  will  go  back  and  hang  that  door  if  you 
will  take  my  arm  as  we  walk;  and  if  you  will  not 
hurry  me,  and  if  you  will  allow  me  to  be  as — we  will 
say  as  romantic  —  as  I  please;  and  if  you  will  not 
snub  me,  no  matter  what  I  say." 

Salome  looked  at  him  with  a  great  appearance  of 
admiration. 

"  I  don't  wonder  they  took  you  into  the  firm  almost 
immediately,''  she  said ;  "  for  you  do  know  how  to 
make  a  bargain.  Give  me  your  arm  and  let  us  start. 
I  aim  to  have  that  door  hung  this  evening." 

Later,  when  Moore  had  left  the  little  log-hut  and 
was  walking  slowly  towards  Augustine,  into  his  raptur 
ous  mood  there  came  one  question,  or  rather  one  re 
mark  : 

"  How  oddly  she  talked  about  that  poor  wretch  of 
a  forger !" 

But  the  thought  left  him  immediately.  It  did  not 
return  until  late  in  the  night — or,  rather,  early  in  the 
morning — when  he  wakened  suddenly  in  his  room  at 
the  San  Marco. 


A.\    ENGAGEMENT  24! 

Almost  before  his  senses  had  fully  thrown  off  sleep 
his  mind  formed  these  words  : 

"  How  strangely  she  looked  when  she  talked  about 
that  poor  fellow  down  in  Tampa  !" 

And  again  the  thought  left  him  immediately  and  he 
slept  again,  thinking  of  other  words  she  had  spoken. 

He  had  not  gone  directly  to  his  hotel.  He  was 
convinced  that  he  should  not  sleep  at  all.  Why 
should  he  sleep  when  his  waking  was  so  happy  ? 

He  strolled  slowly  into  the  town.  The  clocks 
struck  ten.  For  "  society  "  the  evening  had  but  just 
begun . 

He  heard  the  sound  of  band  music,  of  waltzes, 
from  the  Ponce.  That  building  was  brilliant.  He 
stopped  in  front  of  it;  then  he  sauntered  into  the 
grounds.  A  few  people  were  walking  here  and  there. 
The  plashing  of  water,  the  peculiar  rustle  of  the  thick 
leaves  of  orange-trees,  the  odors  from  the  cape  jas 
mines,  the  low  laugh  of  women — Moore  paused  with 
his  hands  thrust  into  the  pockets  of  his  morning-coat. 
This  was  no  place  for  him  among  these  people  in 
evening- dress.  But  still  he  lingered,  taking  in  the 
beauty  of  his  surroundings  with  a  keen  delight. 
Everything  that  was  beautiful  was  now  a  thousand 
times  more  beautiful  to  him — for  did  he  not  love  ? 

Presently  from  an  avenue  there  came  two  figures. 
Moore  soon  knew  them  to  be  Major  Root,  resplen 
dent  in  a  vast,  stiff  expanse  of  shirt-bosom  whereon 
a  diamond  glittered,  and  on  his  arm  a  slender  figure 
holding  itself  with  a  peculiar  air  of  grace  and  inde 
pendence.  Of  course  the  latter  was  Portia  Nunally. 

Moore  had  hardly  decided  as  to  the  identity  of 
the  two  when  the  woman  paused  and  withdrew  her 
hand  from  its  support.  She  said  something  rapidly. 

I  ft 


242  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

The  man  seemed  to  demur,  but  his  companion  insist 
ed.  He  took  her  hand,  kissed  it  with  an  elaborate 
air,  and  then  walked  away. 

Miss  Nunally  now  came  quickly  forward  in  a  man 
ner  that  showed  that  she  had  previously  seen  and 
recognized  Moore.  She  did  not  pause  until  she  was 
close  to  him. 

"Congratulate  me,"  she  said.  Her  face  was  flush 
ed  ;  her  eyes  sparkled.  But  there  was  a  certain  con 
striction  across  her  brows  which  a  woman  would  have 
noticed. 

Moore  drew  himself  up.  "  No ;  I  swear  I  won't 
congratulate  you,"  he  said,  roughly. 

"  Then  congratulate  Major  Root,  if  you  think  that 
would  be  more  appropriate." 

"  No,"  repeated  Moore ;  and  he  added  :  "  I  feel 
more  like  strangling  him." 

Portia  advanced  still  nearer.  She  extended  her 
much  -  ringed  hand  and  put  a  finger  on  Moore's 
sleeve. 

"  Don't  strangle  him  till  the  wedding-day,"  she  said, 
with  so  much  expression  that  the  young  man  involun 
tarily  stepped  back. 

The  girl  also  moved  away  quickly.  Then,  in  that 
mocking  but  somehow  seductive  little  contralto  of 
hers,  she  sung  in  a  half-voice : 

'  '  She  has  kilted  her  skirts  of  green  satin, 
She  has  kilted  them  up  to  her  knee  ; 
And  she's  afF  with  Lord  Ronald  McDonald, 
His  bride  and  his  darling  to  be.'" 

"Only  for  green  satin  read  white  surah,  and  for 
Ronald  McDonald  read  Major  Micah  Root.  With 
these  slight  alterations  I  think  the  song  must  have 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  243 

been  composed  for  me.  What  do  you  say,  Mr. 
Moore  ?" 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  think  of  —  of  this 
cursed  kind  of  a  bargain.  It  isn't  safe  for  me  to  say 
anything  about  it ;  oaths  are  the  only  words  that  I 
want  to  use." 

"  And  oaths  are  not  fit  to  be  spoken  before  a 
refined  woman  like  me,  Mr.  Moore,"  responded 
Portia. 

She  was  standing  very  quietly.  Her  white  dress 
and  her  jewels  gleamed.  She  was  opening  and  shut 
ting  her  fan,  and  gazing  over  it  at  her  companion. 
There  was  something  in  her  eyes  which  appealed 
very  strongly  to  the  young  man. 

"  You  call  me  a  refined  woman,  don't  you,  Mr. 
Moore  ?''  she  asked. 

He  was  obliged  to  rouse  himself  somewhat  that  he 
might  reply. 

"  I  had  that  impression.  You  seemed  to  me  to  be 
exquisitely  refined  and  fastidious." 

"  Yes  ;  odd,  isn't  it,  that  people  generally  think  that 
of  me  ?  I  had  such  a  fancy  about  myself.  But,  you 
see,  I'm  not.  I  am  coarse  and  vulgar.  I  am  going  to 
marry  Major  Root.  It  makes  me  ill  to  look  at  him. 
How  red  his  face  is !  How  heavily  his  under  lip 
hangs  !  But  I'm  going  to  be  his  wife.  There  are 
three  other  girls  whom  I  know  here  in  Augustine  who 
would  have  jumped  if  he  had  beckoned  to  them.  But 
I've  won  him.  I  shall  marry  him  just  as  soon  as  he 
says ;  only  hanging  back  enough  to  be  womanly,  you 
know !  And  I  have  to  beg  for  your  congratulations, 
Mr.  Moore  !" 

Moore  did  not  attempt  any  reply.  He  stood  gazing 
at  the  girl,  a  deep  frown  on  his  face. 


244  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

She  drew  up  the  light  scarf  that  had  fallen  from  her 
shoulders. 

"  He  just  asked  me,"  she  went  on  ;  "  I  knew  lie 
would  do  it  to-night.  I  hesitated,  and  was  properly 
surprised,  and  I  let  him  plead  a  little.  Then  I  said 
'  yes.'  But  after  I  had  said  that  word  I  felt  that  I  could 
not  possibly  endure  him  in  my  presence  for  another 
instant.  I  saw  you  here,  Mr.  Moore.  I  sent  him 
away.  I  shall  not  see  him  again  until  to-morrow. 
Then  he  will  call  on  my  Aunt  Florence.  My  Aunt 
Florence  will  feel  like  thanking  him  for  taking  me  off 
her  hands.  Everybody  will  envy  me,  and  say  how 
well  that  Darrah  woman's  niece  has  done,  after  all. 
The  three  other  girls  who  wanted  to  marry  Major 
Micah  Root  will  be  green.  And  I,  why  I  shall 

"  '  Be  aff  with  Lord  Ronald  McDonald, 
His  bride  and  his  darling  to  be  !'  " 

Moore  sprang  forward  a  step.  He  grasped  Portia's 
hand  which  held  the  fan.  The  fragile  thing  fell 
broken  to  the  ground. 

"  It  is  atrocious  !"  he  cried,  "savagely.  "  I — I  won't 
allow  it !  No  decent  man  should  allow  such  a  thing. 
A  man  should  remember  that  a  woman  is  to  be  loved 
— to  be  respected — above  all  things,  to  be  respected. 
You  don't  know  how  vile  a  thing  a  male  human  being 
may  be  and  still  be  received.  You  don't  know  what 
an  animal  that  Root  is.  I've  heard  him  say  things 
that — that — oh,  I  can't  tell  you  !  I'll  go  out  and  kill 
him.  Somebody's  got  to  kill  him  !" 

Miss  Nunally  was  looking  intently  at  the  young 
man's  face.  She  was  standing  very  near  him.  That 
constriction  across  her  forehead  deepened. 


AN     ENGAGEMENT  245 

"  Please  remember,  Mr.  Moore,  that  I've  led  him 
on.  I've  intended  to  make  him  propose  to  me.  And, 
in  a  way,  I  have  enjoyed  it — on  account  of  those  other 
girls  who  will  be  green  with  envy,  you  know.  But — 
here  Portia  suddenly  spread  out  her  hands  as  if 
thrusting  something  away ;  her  voice  broke  into  a 
hoarse  and  not  easily  distinguishable  murmur — "how 
am  I  going  to  endure  my  life  ?  What  is  to  become 
of  me  ?'' 

Before  Moore  could  in  any  way  gather  himself  for 
a  reply  the  girl  had  turned  away  with  a  slight  laugh 
and  the  remark  : 

"  You  did  not  guess  that  I  had  such  melodramatic 
possibilities  in  me,  did  you  ?  Well,  I  at  least  have 
the  merit  of  not  indulging  them  often.  Will  you  take 
me  back  to  the  ball-room,  Mr.  Moore  ?" 

The  young  man  offered  his  arm.  The  two  walked 
on  in  silence. 

Soon  they  came  among  groups  of  people.  Some  of 
them  glanced  rather  superciliously  at  Moore. 

At  last,  near  the  veranda,  he  paused. 

"  You  see,  I  am  not  fit  to  come  among  these  fine 
birds,"  he  said.  "  I  will  say  good-night  now.  I  sup 
pose  it  is  useless  to  remonstrate  with  you  ?'' 

"  Quite." 

Miss  Nunally  hesitated  after  she  had  spoken  that 
word.  Her  manner  was  such  that  her  companion 
could  not  immediately  leave,  as  he  had  intended 
doing. 

"Let  us  go  to  that  shrubbery,''  she  said;  "  I  have 
something  to  ask  you." 

They  walked  to  the  shrubbery,  which  was  odorous 
with  clusters  of  yellow  flowers. 

Portia  absently  plucked  a  few  of  these. 


246  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"Perfumes  are  very  strange,"  she  said;  "they  ap 
peal  both  to  the  sense  and  the  spirit." 

She  extended  the  flowers  to  Moore.     He  took  them. 

"  Only  in  these  days  there  is  no  longer  any  spirit ; 
it  is  all  sense — all  material.  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if 
you  are  sure  of  being  happy  with  Miss  Gerry  ?" 

"  Sure?  Oh  yes  !  I  wish  the  future  were  as  bright 
to  you,  Miss  Nunally." 

There  was  a  deep  and  tender  earnestness  in  the 
young  man's  voice  and  his  face. 

Portia  looked  up  at  him. 

"  I  knew  you  felt  so,"  she  returned.  "  I  hope  you 
will  not  be  disappointed.  I  dread  telling  Miss  Gerry 
about  my  engagement.  She  is  not  the  kind  of  a  girl 
who  could  do  such  a  thing." 

"  No  !     No  !"     With  some  violence. 

"  Well,  good-night,  Mr.  Moore.  Stay  " — she  looked 
at  him  again ;  "  you  may  give  those  flowers  to  Miss 
Gerry  with  my — with  my  sincerest  good  wishes." 

She  walked  away.  Her  white  dress  gleamed  in  and 
out  among  the  trees,  then  was  gone. 


XIV 

TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS 

WHEN  Moore  had  left  the  log-house  where  he  had 
hung  the  door,  Salome  had  stood  outside  in  the  moon 
light  for  a  long  time,  with  the  hound  sitting  near  her. 
She  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  thinking  of  her  lover. 
She  was  merely  not  thinking  at  all.  The  Florida 
night  was  all  about  her.  The  monotonous  level  was 
never  monotonous  to  her — least  of  all,  now.  She  liked 
to  hear  the  movements  of  unseen  birds  in  the  trees. 
She  liked  to  take  in,  with  all  its  inexpressible,  serious 
beauty,  the  very  spirit  of  this  bewitching  land,  this 
land  which  had  healed  her  body. 

Mrs.  Gerry  sat  in  the  doorway.  She  could  hardly 
restrain  herself  from  telling  her  daughter  that  she 
must  not  stay  out  in  the  night  air.  Uut  she  remem 
bered  that  the  night  air  no  longer  harmed  the  girl. 
Nothing  harmed  her.  There  was  not  an  hour  that  had 
passed  since  her  coming  here  that  had  not  been  full 
of  healing  and  beneficence  to  Salome.  For  the  first 
time  she  was  in  a  climate  so  thoroughly  congenial 
that  merely  to  live  was  a  blessing.  She  was  well. 
She  had  thrown  off  the  alarming  symptoms  with  that 
rapidity  of  which  youth  is  sometimes  capable  when 
influences  are  accurately  adjusted. 

Now  her  mother  could  not  remove  her  gaze  from 
that  slight  figure  that  was  alert  with  life  and  with 


248  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

that  happy  prescience  which  in  itself  is  an  elixir. 
But  Mrs.  Gerry  did  not  like  Florida.  If  she  had 
been  given  to  expressing  herself  with  great  strength 
she  would  have  said  that  she  hated  it.  Everything, 
in  her  eyes,  was  wrong ;  for  was  not  everything  differ 
ent  from  New  England  ?  And  to  be  compelled  daily 
to  see  such  people  as  Job  Maine  and  his  wife — that 
experience  alone  would  have  made  her  miserable. 
And  these  were  almost  the  only  people  she  saw.  She 
had  to  buy  chickens  of  them  at  exorbitant  rates.  If 
Mr.  Maine  did  an  errand  for  her  he  charged  her  well 
for  it.  Of  late  Salome  had  insisted  upon  bringing 
out  parcels  from  Augustine  when  she  returned  from 
her  work  with  Mrs.  Darrah.  And  it  was  only  of  late 
that  Mrs.  Gerry  had  really  decided  that  Salome  was 
amply  able  to  do  this.  It  was  so  strange  not  to  be 
continually  shielding  the  child  and  taking  care  of  her. 
At  first  the  mother  would  demur,  and  the  girl  would 
say :  "  But  you  know,  mother,  I  haven't  incipient 
phthisis  any  more,"  and  she  gayly  did  as  she  pleased. 

Now,  as  Mrs.  Gerry,  with  relaxed  mind  and  body, 
sat  in  the  hard,  straight  chair  in  the  entrance  to  their 
hut,  Salome  suddenly  left  her  musings  by  moonlight 
and  walked  straight  up  to  her  mother.  She  leaned 
against  her  in  silence  for  a  moment.  After  a  while 
she  asked  : 

"  Do  I  look  like  any  of  my  relations,  mother  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  accustomed  to  abrupt  remarks  from 
her  daughter,  so  she  only  smiled  slightly  as  she  an 
swered  •  "  You  always  used  to  look  like  my  mother, 
and  at  times  like  her  father.  Now  you  grow  every 
day  to  have  his  expression.  You  are  so  mixed  ,  but 
then  we  are  all  that  way." 

"  Like  her  father  ?     He  would  be  my  great-grand- 


TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS  249 

father  then,  wouldn't  he  ?  What  kind  of  a  man  was 
he  ?  You  never  talk  about  him." 

"  Perhaps  I  haven't.  But  then  one  doesn't  give 
much  talk  to  grandfathers  ;  and  I  have  had  other 
things  to  think  about — you,  for  instance." 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  instinctively  bracing  herself.  She 
hardly  knew  why.  Salome  was  liable  to  take  up  a 
whim  and  follow  it.  And  she  had  always  been  per 
tinacious  in  the  most  unexpected  directions. 

"Yes,  I  know  I've  been  a  great  anxiety  to  you. 
]kit  what  kind  of  a  man  was  your  mother's  father  ?" 
repeated  Salome. 

Still  she  was  not  thinking  very  strongly,  even  then, 
of  what  she  was  saying.  While  she  had  been  stand 
ing  out  there  in  the  moonlight  it  had  occurred  quite 
powerfully  to  her  that  she  was  not  at  all  what  she 
would  have  called  a  New  England  girl.  Such  girls 
were  proper  and  narrow  and  rigidly  upright ;  they 
never  had  an  " accidental  thought "  whose  "possible 
pulses''  were  not  immediately  stifled.  They  were, 
above  all  things,  "reliable."  They  were  reliable  be 
cause  they  could  not  help  being  so. 

This  was  the  way  Salome  Gerry  inwardly  described 
the  typical  Yankee  girl.  If  she  did  not  choose  her 
adjectives  correctly  she  none  the  less  thought  that  she 
so  chose  them.  And  she  would  have  described  her 
self  before  she  left  home  in  those  words.  Particularly 
would  she  have  warned  herself  against  the  possible 
pulses  of  those  accidental  thoughts.  It  was  the  irreg 
ular  things  which  must  be  avoided.  It  was  the  irreg 
ular,  exceptional  things  which  had  such  astonishing 
power;  and  astonishing  power,  in  the  creed  of  the 
common-place,  must  of  course  make  for  evil — until  it 
should  be  labelled  and  arranged.  Anything  which 


250  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

had  been  labelled  and  arranged,  however,  could  no 
longer  be  considered  abnormal  or  exceptional. 

As  Salome  stood  leaning  by  her  mother's  chair 
these  thoughts  went  confusedly  through  her  mind. 
She  was  often  confused  in  these  days.  Everything 
outside  was  so  different,  and  all  her  inward  life  was 
still  more  different,  if  that  were  possible. 

There  were  brief  snatches  of  time  when  Salome 
would  feel  an  acute  wonder  as  to  why  she  felt  no  re 
pentance  for  the  crime  she  had  committed.  It  was  a 
crime.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  that.  And 
Moore  had  spoken  very  severely  of  such  a  crime. 
Though,  perhaps,  that  man  down  in  Tampa  had  done 
it  for  his  wife.  It  was  rather  curious  that  Salome 
came  to  assert  to  herself  that  the  man  in  Tampa  had 
done  this  deed  for  his  wife. 

Now  she  recalled  her  somewhat  wandering  thoughts, 
and  asked  once  more  what  kind  of  a  man  her  great 
grandfather  had  been. 

This  time  Mrs.  Gerry  replied,  promptly, 

"  Everybody  loved  him." 

The  girl  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  mother's  face. 

"  But  was  he  good  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  He  was  not  what  we  call  conscientious,"  was  the 
answer. 

Mrs.  Gerry  made  a  quick  resolve.  She  took  Sa 
lome's  hands  and  gently  drew  the  girl  into  her  arms. 

"  He  was  not  a  Northern  man.  He  was  born  down 
here  in  the  West  Indies.  He  was — well — I  know 
what  you  are  thinking.  You  are  like  him  in  many 
ways  ;  but  I  did  not  know  it.  I  only  suspected  it  be 
fore  we  came  South.  Now  I  know  you  belong  in  the 
South  ;  it  is  in  your  blood — this  feeling  you  have 
since  you  came  here.'' 


TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS  251 

Salome  did  not  seem  particularly  impressed  with 
this  information.  She  lay  with  her  head  quietly  on 
her  mother's  shoulder  and  her  arm  around  her  moth 
er's  neck.  Her  eyes  were  intently  fixed  upon  the  ba 
nana  leaves  which  were  slowly  waving  back  and  forth 
in  the  soft  wind. 

At  last  she  said  : 

"  Miss  Nunally  and  I  were  talking  about  heredity 
the  other  day.  She  thinks  that  if  we  really  believe 
in  that  we  need  not  feel  to  blame  about  anything." 

Mrs.  Gerry's  arm  tightened  around  her  burden. 
She  wished  to  exclaim  sharply,  but  she  did  not.  She 
said,  with  calm  emphasis  : 

"  She  is  wrong.  She  is  -utterly  wrong.  Such  a  be 
lief  would  undermine  all  desire  to  be  good — all  prin 
ciple." 

"What  is  principle?"  inquired  the  girl. 

"  Salome  !" 

Salome  pressed  her  lips  softly  to  her  mother's 
cheek  before  she  said  : 

"Of  course  I  know.  Am  I  not  your  daughter,  you 
principled  creature,  you?  And  didn't  I  go  to  Sun 
day-school  when  the  weather  was  good  and  you 
thought  I  should  not  take  cold  ?  The  other  day — 
now  listen  to  me,  and  don't  be  shocked — I  told  a 
lie." 

"  Salome  !" 

An  expression  of  intense  pain  crossed  Mrs.  Ger 
ry's  face.  But  she  said  no  more  then.  The  girl 
went  on. 

"It  was  about  that  venison,  mother.  I  knew  you 
had  set  your  heart  on  it  for  me.  I  told  you  what  T 
did  because  I  thought  it  would  make  your  mind 
easier.  And  it  was  of  no  earthly  good  to  tell  you 


252  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

that  you  could  not  have  it  at  all.  You  would  soon 
make  arrangements  for  something  else.  And  it  was 
that  poor  boy's  fault,  and  I  hated  to  have  you  blame 
him." 

Again  the  girl  gently  kissed  her  mother's  cheek. 
And  her  mother  said  nothing. 

"  When  I  was  at  home  and  half  ill,  you  know,"  con 
tinued  Salome,  "  I  never  said  the  least  thing  that 
wasn't  true.  I'm  almost  sure  I  did  not.  But  I  did 
not  really  care  anything  about  the  truth  for  its  own 
sake,  mother.  Somehow  it  seems  as  if  people  ought 
to  care  involuntarily  for  the  truth's  sake,  just  as  they 
would  care  for  a  friend,  because  they  can't  help  it.  I 
never  cared  that  way.  Walter  Redd  cares  that  way. 
I  was  ill  and  afraid  I  was  going  to  die,  and  full  of  no 
tions,  and  I  did  not  dare  not  to  be  truthful.  And  I 
made  a  great  talk  about  my  conscience.  I  was  just 
awfully  good,  wasn't  I,  mother  ?  But  I  was  afraid  ;  I 
was  afraid  of  death,  and  of  God.  Now  I'm  not  afraid 
of  death  at  all ;  it  seems  so  very  far  off  that  I  can't 
be  afraid  of  it.  And  God — well,  He  doesn't  seem  ter 
rible  to  me  any  more.  And  when  things  look  as  if 
they  would  be  easier  and  more  comfortable  all  round 
if  I  didn't  tell  the  exact  truth,  why  I'm  not  afraid  any 
more,  you  see." 

Salome  lifted  her  head  and  looked  into  her  com 
panion's  face.  Then  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
pain. 

"  Oh,  mother,  do  you  feel  so  badly  as  that  ?  Is  it 
so  very  dreadful  ?  Do  you  give  me  up  ?  I  wanted 
to  tell  you !" 

Mrs.  Gerry's  arms  clasped  the  girl  with  painful 
closeness. 

"  Give  you  up  !"  she  said,  sharply.     "  Oh   no  !    no  ! 


TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS  253 

Nothing  could  make  me  do  that,  child.  I  love  you, 
and  I  am  your  mother." 

But  Mrs.  Gerry  could  not  keep  the  agony  out  of 
her  face.  She  bent  her  forehead  to  her  daughter's 
shoulder  for  a  moment 

She  felt  Salome's  hand  tenderly  smoothing  her  hair. 

Truth  was  the  foundation  of  everything.  That  was 
the  dominant  thought  in  the  woman's  mind.  There 
could  be  nothing  without  truth.  What  were  all  the 
graces,  all  the  amiability  in  the  world  without  that 
one  attribute  ?  What  would  Salome  do  ?  When 
should  she  believe  Salome  ? 

Do  you  wonder  that  the  woman  should  suffer  thus  ? 
This  woman,  to  whom  simple  uprightness,  absolute  in 
tegrity  were  as  the  breath  of  her  nostrils,  and  to  whom 
they  were  as  natural  as  that  breath  ?  The  person  of 
merely  acquired  virtues  receives  no  such  shock  from 
any  dereliction. 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  born  with  uprightness  in  her  soul, 
and  she  had  nourished  that  gift  all  her  life. 

She  had  a  feeling  that  her  daughter  was  wondering 
that  she  should  be  so  much  moved.  Salome  had  ex 
pected  her  mother  to  be  grieved  and  displeased,  but 
she  had  hardly  anticipated  anything  like  this. 

The  girl  put  a  hand  each  side  of  her  mother's  face, 
and  lifted  it  so  that  she  could  look  into  it. 

Mrs.  Gerry  thus  gazed  into  the  clear,  loving 
sweetness  of  the  girl's  eyes.  The  knife-like  question, 
"  How  much  is  she  really  responsible  ?"  flashed 
through  the  woman's  mind.  But  she  had  always  held 
that  people  were  responsible,  directly  so.  Responsi 
ble  or  not,  a  person  must  meet  the  consequences  of 
his  thoughts  and  his  deeds. 

Mrs.  Gerry  tried  to  regain    her  self-control.     She 


254  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

tried  to  speak  in  her  usual  calm  manner  when  she 
said : 

"  Salome,  when  you  tell  me  anything,  must  I  ask 
myself  whether  it  is  true  or  not  ?  To  know  that  you 
have  said  it  ought  to  be  just  the  same  as  knowing  it 
is  the  truth." 

"Yes,"  said  Salome,  still  looking  into  her  mother's 
eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  say  yes  ?"-  questioned  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  I  say  it  because  I  know  one  ought  to  tell  the 
truth,  since  that  is  what  you  have  taught  me." 

"  But  don't  you  know  it  for  yourself  if  no  one  had 
taught  you  ?" 

Salome  shook  her  head.  "  I  can't  tell  about  that," 
she  answered.  "  I  suppose  I  know  it ;  but  I'm  not 
quite  certain,  somehow.  I  think  my  moral  vision 
must  be  kind  of  blurred,  don't  you,  mother  ?  But 
please,  please  don't  feel  so  badly  !  and  let  us  talk  of 
something  else — the  night,  for  instance.  And  let  us 
imagine  how  cold  and  snowy  it  is  at  home  where  fa 
ther  is." 

Mrs.  Gerry  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  would  do  no 
good  for  her  to  pursue  the  subject  further  now.  Per 
haps  it  might  never  do  any  good.  She  had  an  intol 
erable  sense  of  helplessness. 

"  It  was  time  several  days  ago  to  hear  from  your 
father,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been  trying  not  to  be  anx 
ious.  We  have  not  heard  since  you  sent  that  money 
to  him." 

The  two  talked  a  few  moments  about  paying  Uncle 
John,  and  about  affairs  at  home.  Then  Salome  said 
good-night,  and  laid  herself  down  on  the  bed.  She 
was  soon  asleep.  But  the  mother,  though  she  took 
her  place  beside  the  girl,  did  not  sleep.  She  lay 


TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS  255 

watching  the  moonlight  through  the  interstices  be 
tween  the  logs,  and  thinking,  thinking. 

The  fragrant  air  from  the  ocean  and  from  the  pines 
blew  into  the  room. 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  very  quiet.  But  she  did  not  close 
her  eyes.  When  the  mocking-birds  gave  out  their 
first  fiutings  to  the  new  day  she  heard  them. 

It  was  quite  early  on  that  day,  even  before  Salome 
was  ready  to  go  into  the  town  to  her  daily  appoint 
ment,  that  a  figure  appeared  in  the  path  that  led  to 
Augustine. 

Salome  was  washing  the  breakfast  dishes  in  rather 
a  desultory  fashion,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to 
stroll  for  a  moment  out-of-doors.  It  was  upon  one 
of  these  strolls,  with  a  tin  dish  in  her  hand,  that  she 
saw  this  figure.  She  recognized  it,  and  hurried  out  to 
meet  Miss  Nunally. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  And  why  are  you  not  on 
horseback?''  asked  Salome. 

"  Nothing  has  happened.  And  I  am  not  on  horse 
back  because  I  prefer  to  be  on  my  feet,"  was  the  an 
swer.  "  And  I  thought  we  might  walk  back  to 
gether.'' 

"  So  \ve  will.  I3ut  you  must  have  risen  at  an  un 
conscionable  hour — for  you." 

"  I  did.  I  have  been  rehearsing  all  night  one  of 
Lady  Macbeth's  speeches,  and  consequently  I  did  not 
sleep." 

Salome  thought  Miss  Nunally  looked  haggard. 

"  Why  did  you  choose  one  of  Lady  Macbeth's 
speeches,"  she  inquired,  "when  there  are  so  many 
other  people  who  have  said  more  agreeable  things  ?'' 

"  Because  it  was  so  appropriate,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  are  very  odd  this  morning?" 


256  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

asked  Salome,  with  some  concern.  "  And  do  you 
mind  telling  me  what  speech  it  was  ?'' 

"  Yes,  I  am  odd,  and  I  don't  mind  telling  you.  It 
is  '  Out,  damned  spot !'  Isn't  that  deliciously  tragic  ? 
You  see,  there  isn't  any  blood  on  my  hand.  But 
Major  Root  kissed  it  last  night,  which  is  worse  than 
blood.'' 

Salome  gazed  at  the  new-comer  while  she  continued 
to  pass  the  towel  round  and  round  the  tin  dish. 

Mrs.  Gerry  now  came  from  the  hut,  and  in  the 
greetings  that  passed  Portia  resumed  her  usual  ex 
pression,  which  seemed  to  be  a  mingling  of  pride  and 
courtesy. 

When  the  two  girls  were  on  their  way  to  the  town, 
both  under  Salome's  large  umbrella,  they  kept  silent 
for  so  long  a  time  that  it  seemed  as  if  Miss  Nunally 
had,  after  all,  nothing  to  say.  It  was  Salome  who 
broke  this  silence. 

"  Is  Major  Root  a  big  man  with  a  red  face  and  a 
loose-looking  mouth  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  I've  seen  him  in  the  Ponce  grounds  with  you,  and 
I've  wondered — 

A  pause. 

"  Well,"  Portia  turned  quickly,  "  what  have  you 
wondered  ?" 

"  Why,  how  you  could  endure  to  have  him  near 
you ;  and  how  you  could  smile  at  him  as  you  did.  If 
you  should  smile  at  me  that  way,  Miss  Nunally,  I 
should  certainly  kiss  your  hand — unless  you  forbade 
me." 

"You  shouldn't  wait  until  I  forbade  you." 

The  two  paused  as  if  the  interest  of  their  conver 
sation,  mild  as  it  looks  when  written  down,  was  still 


TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS  257 

so  great  that  they  could  not  continue  their  walk. 
Portia  was  looking  with  winning  eyes  at  her  compan 
ion,  who  had  always  held  for  her  something  quite  out 
of  the  ordinary.  She  had  once  confided  to  her  Aunt 
Florence  that  if  she  had  not  come  down  to  Augustine 
for  the  express  purpose  of  getting  a  husband,  and  if 
all  her  family  would  not  be  so  disappointed  if  she  did 
not  get  one,  she  should  have  liked,  above  all  things,  to 
study  that  amanuensis. 

"Let  the  child  alone!"  Mrs.  Darrah  had  said,  per 
emptorily.  "  You  would  bewitch  her." 

Portia  opened  her  eyes  at  this. 

"You  credit  me  with — "  she  began;  but  Mrs.  Dar 
rah  ruthlessly  interrupted  her. 

"  You  know  you  bewitch  people,  Portia,"  she  said. 
"  You  are  one  of  those  things  they  used  to  call  sirens  ; 
and  you  really  ought  to  be  chained  to  a  rock  some 
where." 

Here  Portia  lifted  her  tipper  lip  in  that  way  which 
showed  the  tips  of  her  teeth — a  way  which  was  not  a 
smile. 

"It  will  be  quite  sufficient  if  I  am  chained  to  a  hus 
band,  I  think,"  she  answered  ;  and  Mrs.  Darrah  had 
replied,  with  a  laugh,  that  she  fancied  it  would  also  be 
quite  sufficient  for  the  husband. 

Now,  as  she  stood  with  Salome,  this  little  conversa 
tion  returned  to  her. 

Salome's  face  was  still  pale,  but  it  had  not  now  the 
pallor  of  ill-health  ;  it  was  of  that  peculiar  hue  which 
denotes  extreme  sensitiveness,  and  the  dilating  and 
contracting  pupils  of  the  eyes  conveyed  the  same  im 
pression.  She  looked,  however,  more  able  to  bear 
this  continual  play  of  feeling  across  her  consciousness. 
She  had  not  now  the  aspect  of  an  invalid. 


2^8  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  something,"  said  Miss  Nu 
nally,  at  last,  "  but  you  are  so  very  frank  about  that 
big  man  with  the  red  face  and  the  loose-looking  mouth 
that  you  make  it  almost  impossible." 

Salome  let  her  umbrella  suddenly  swing  over  her 
back  and  drop  onto  the  sand.  She  seized  her  com 
panion  by  the  wrist. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  marry  that  man  !"  she  cried. 

"  Yes,  I  am." 

"  But— but— " 

Salome  found  a  difficulty  in  going  on.  She  turned 
away,  picked  up  her  umbrella,  and  stood  a  little  apart 
with  it  over  her  head.  Her  shining,  distressed  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  Portia.  She  was  thinking  of  Moore, 
and  of  how  she  loved  him.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
any  woman,  least  of  all  the  woman  before  her,  could 
love  Major  Root  ?  Salome  was  ignorant  of  many 
things.  She  could  never  quite  bring  herself  to  believe 
that  a  woman  could  decide  to  marry  a  man  whom  she 
did  not  love.  She  was  a  very  simple-minded  girl,  not 
withstanding  the  complexity  of  her  character. 

"  But  what  ?"  coolly  asked  Miss  Nunally. 

There  was,  however,  a  flush  on  the  speaker's  face, 
and  that  same  aspect  of  the  brows  which  had  been 
apparent  the  evening  before. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask,"  said  Salome,  with  some  stiff 
ness,  "if  you  love  Major  Root.  But  it  is  not  necessary 
to  ask  that.  If  you  think  of  marrying  him,  of  course 
you  love  him." 

Miss  Nunally  made  no  attempt  at  a  response  for 
some  moments. 

She  stepped  within  the  shade  of  Salome's  umbrella 
and  put  her  arm  about  Salome's  waist.  Her  face  was 
so  grave,  so  troubled,  that  it  hardly  seemed  to  be 


TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS  259 

her  face.  The  diablery  which  was  often  so  pro 
nounced  and  so  charming  was  all  gone.  She  almost 
looked  old.  And  it  is  not  years  merely  which  age 
women.  Portia  Nunally  had  lived  five  years  in  one 
all  her  life.  She  had  never  economized  in  sensation, 
emotion.  She  was  a  spendthrift  in  every  way.  That 
old  motto,  "Dum  vivimus,  vivamus,"  had  always  been 
hers,  Put  her  rose-leaf  skin  was  not  injured,  nor  the 
lustre  of  her  eyes  dimmed.  She  possessed  that  rare 
gift  of  the  gods  which  enables  one  to  sleep  like  an  in 
fant  the  moment  one's  head  is  placed  on  the  pillow. 

If  cares  vexed  and  wearied  her,  she  could  throw 
herself  on  her  bed  and  fall  into  that  calm  and  beauti 
ful  repose  which  is  represented  as  coming  only  to  the 
people  with  burdenless  consciences.  She  had  come 
to  reckon  with  a  dangerous  assurance  upon  this  power 
of  recuperation.  She  had  hardly  yet  learned  that  the 
body,  even  though  long  suffering,  never  forgets  its  re 
venges.  And  the  preceding  night  she  had  not  slept 
as  well  as  usual. 

"  I  told  Mr.  Moore  last  evening,"  she  now  began 
abruptly,  "  that  I  dreaded  telling  you  of  my  engage 
ment  ;  that  you  were  not  the  kind  of  girl  to — to — 
It  is  surprising  that  it  should  be  so  difficult  to  finish 
some  sentences,  Miss  Gerry.  And,  then,  it  is  not  in 
the  least  necessary  that  I  tell  you  I  am  going  to  marry 
Major  Root.  And  yet  1  have  had  for  some  hours  a 
morbid  desire  to  tell  you  with  my  own  lips,  and  re 
ceive — your  congratulations  !" 

Portia  smiled  as  she  ceased  speaking. 

Salome  withdrew  herself  from  Miss  Nunally's  arm 
with  an  involuntary  movement  of  which  she  seemed 
unconscious ;  but  she  immediately  placed  herself 
again  close  beside  her  as  she  said  : 


260  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  I  can't  conceive  that  a  woman  can  do  such  a 
thing.  But,  then,  perhaps  I  can  do  things  which 
would  be  impossible  to  you." 

Something  in  the  girl's  manner  made  Portia  forget 
her  own  affairs  for  an  instant. 

"  What  things,  for  instance  ?"  she  inquired,  quickly. 

Salome  hesitated. 

"  I  do  not  always  tell  the  exact  truth,"  answered 
Salome. 

Portia  gazed  at  her. 

"  With  your  face,  too  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  But  then 
I  don't  always  tell  the  exact  truth,  either." 

"  I  mean,"  said  the  other,  "  that  I  don't  have  that 
regard  for  truth  that  I  ought  to  have,  and  what  is  far 
worse,  I  don't  suffer  because  of  it." 

"Oh!" 

Portia's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight.  She  said  she 
wished  she  had  a  blue  note-book  such  as  Aunt  Flor 
ence  used.  Then,  seeing  Salome's  annoyed  expres 
sion,  she  begged  her  pardon. 

Salome  did  not  know  why  she  had  such  a  strong 
impulse  to  tell  Miss  Nunally  about  that  forged  check. 
To  her  mind  it  was  not  nearly  so  bad  as  Portia's  en 
gagement  to  Major  Root.  When  she  had  begun  to 
speak  just  now  she  had  fully  intended  to  tell  of  that. 
She  did  not  know  what  kept  her  from  speaking  those 
words.  It  must  be,  she  thought,  because  she  feared 
that  her  mother  would  not  like  to  have  her  do  so. 
Her  mother  did  not  know ;  but  her  ideas  were  very 
strict. 

"  I  knew  you  would  not  approve  of  my  engage 
ment,"  now  remarked  Miss  Nunally.  "  I  don't  know 
why  I  should  care  so  greatly  whether  you  approve  or 
not.  I  don't  intend  to  care  the  least  in  the  world 


TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS  261 

what  any  one  thinks.  Most  persons  will  say  I'm  a 
very  lucky  girl.  I'm  getting  a  trifle  passe,  you  know. 
People  have  begun  to  ask,  '  What !  isn't  that  Nunally 
girl  married  yet  ?'  " 

"Why  should  you  marry  at  all?"  innocently  ques 
tioned  Salome.  "  Surely  a  woman  need  not  think 
that  she  must  marry." 

"  It  is  astonishing  how  many  things  you  don't 
know !"  cried  Portia. 

"Yes,  that  is  true,"  was  the  modest  reply. 

Miss  Xunally  took  her  companion's  hand  and  held 
it  closely. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you  are  in  love,"  she  re 
marked. 

"  I  know  I  am." 

"  You  have  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  ?" 

"  Not  a  shadow." 

Portia  flung  rather  than  dropped  the  hand. 

"  Mr.  Moore  hasn't  a  doubt,  either,"  she  said. 
"  But,  for  all  that,  Salome  Gerry,  you  two  may  be 
deadly  tired  of  each  other  before  two  years  are  gone." 

Salome  clasped  hard  the  handle  of  her  umbrella. 

"  You  make  me  feel  as  those  crows  did  when  they 
flew  over  us  the  other  day;"  and  she  shrank  slightly 
as  she  spoke. 

"  How  was  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  horribly  !" 

Having  said  this,  Salome  gathered  herself  to  go  on. 

"  Of  course,  a  marriage  for  what  seems  to  be  love 
may  turn  out  badly;  but  any  other  kind  of  a  marriage 
must  surely  turn  out  so — is  so  from  the  beginning. 
Miss  Nunally,  do  please  tell  Major  Root  that  you 
have  changed  your  mind!" 

Portia  seemed  to  set  her  teeth  together. 


262  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

"  There's  only  one  thing  in  all  this  world  that  could 
make  me  tell  him  so,"  she  answered. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  quickly. 

"Oh,  I  shall  not  reveal  that.  Do  you  know,"  tak 
ing  Salome's  hand  again,  "  it  is  quite  on  the  cards 
that  I  should  hate  you?" 

"  No  !  no  !"  cried  Salome.     "  Tell  me  why  !" 

"  But  I  don't  hate  you.  I  can't  seem  to  do  that. 
You  have  such  a  face  ;  such  a  lovely  spirit.  Yes,  it 
must  be  your  lovely  spirit." 

Salome  thought  of  the  check  she  had  sent  to  her 
father.  She  remembered  that  she  had  not  a  strict  re 
gard  for  the  truth,  and,  having  remembered  these 
things,  she  wondered  somewhat  painfully  what  it  was 
that  this  girl  could  mean  by  speaking  of  her  "  lovely 
spirit."  And  she  also  asked  herself  how  people  could 
be  so  very  much  mistaken  in  her.  There  was  Ran 
dolph  Moore — with  a  quickening  of  the  pulses  as 
that  name  came  to  her  mind — she  was  quite  sure  he 
believed  that  she  had  a  lovely  spirit.  It  seemed 
quite  impossible  to  understand  herself.  Only,  she 
was  afraid  she  was  not  like  what  people  thought  her 
to  be.  So  she  supposed  she  was  deceiving  every  one 
all  the  time. 

In  the  confusion  of  mind  which  accompanied  these 
thoughts  she  turned  to  Portia  as  if  that  girl  might  be 
able  to  help  her  in  some  way.  She  found  that  Miss 
Nunally  was  watching  her  with  the  utmost  interest. 
She  could  not  resist  an  increasing  confusion,  which 
showed  itself  in  her  eyes  and  in  the  curves  of  her  lips. 
She  wished  to  say  something,  but  she  could  not 
speak.  A  feeling  of  resentment  towards  this  emotion 
was  growing  within  her.  Apparently  nothing  had 
happened  to  cause  this. 


TOUCHING    TRUTHFULNESS  263 

As  the  two  stood  there  Mr.  Job  Maine,  his  mule, 
and  his  cart  came  slowly  along  from  the  direction 
of  Augustine.  He  had  been  into  the  town  ;  he  had 
made  what  his  wife  called  a  "soon  start"  in  the 
morning,  and  he  was  now  on  his  way  back. 

Although  it  was  not  yet  nine  o'clock  he  had  had  a 
little  whiskey,  and  this  whiskey  had  made  him  very 
amiable.  lie  informed  Salome  that  he  had  brought 
a  letter  from  Massachusetts  for  her  mother,  and  he 
added  the  information  that  Massachusetts  was  a 
mighty  good  State.  Then  he  gave  his  mule  that  suc 
cession  of  kicks  which  resulted,  at  last,  in  the  ani 
mal's  moving  forward. 

This  incident  appeared  to  change  the  current  of 
conversation  between  the  two  girls.  They  now  walk 
ed  on  quickly,  Salome  having  come  to  a  sense  that 
it  was  lime  she  hurried  to  her  appointment.  And 
they  talked  only  in  the  most  indifferent  way. 

It  was  hardly  more  than  an  hour  later,  and  while 
Mrs.  Darrah  was  in  the  full  tide  of  successful  dicta 
tion  in  the  novel  of  sentiment,  that  the  door  of  the 
room  opened  unceremoniously,  but  very  quietly,  and 
Mrs.  (Jerry  appeared. 

Her  face  was  pale  and  set.  She  was  dressed  in  her 
best  black  wool  dress  and  her  black  bonnet.  She 
held  a  bag  in  her  hand. 

Salome  glanced  at  her.  Then  she  dropped  her  pen 
and  ran  to  her  side.  She  seized  her  mother's  disen 
gaged  hand  and  held  it  tight. 

"  Mother!"  she  cried,  "  what  has  happened?" 


XV 

"HOW    SHOULD    YOU    THINK    OF    YOURSELF?" 

MRS.  GERRY  looked  at  her  daughter  with  an  agony 
of  anxiety  in  her  face.  But  it  was  an  anxiety  to  which 
she  must  not  yet  yield ;  which  she  felt  it  wrong  even 
to  express  in  the  slightest  degree. 

She  summoned  all  her  strength  to  her  aid.  She 
spoke  with  a  courage  which  she  could  not  feel. 

"  I  had  news  this  morning  that  your  father  is  sick," 
she  said,  "  and  I  thought  it  best  to  go  home." 

Salome  stood  as  quietly  as  her  mother.  But  she 
clung  painfully  to  the  hand  she  had  grasped. 

"  You  take  the  next  train  North  ?"  she  asked,  un 
consciously  speaking  in  a  whisper,  as  if  her  father 
were  present  and  she  might  disturb  him.  Before  her 
mother  could  do  more  than  bend  her  head  in  assent 
Salome  added,  eagerly  : 

"  I  needn't  get  ready.  I  can  go  just  as  I  am.  And 
I  can  help  take  care  of  father." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry.  Then  she  looked  over  at 
Mrs.  Darrah,  who  was  watching  the  two  with  surprise 
in  her  face.  But  Mrs.  Gerry  had  no  time  to  hesitate. 
She  walked  straight  to  that  lady,  who  was  lounging 
among  her  cushions. 

"  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you,"  she  said. 

"Yes?"  was  the  interrogative  response.  "Won't 
you  sit  down  ?" 


"HOW    .SHOULD    YOU    THINK    OF    YOURSELF?''     265 

"Oh  no!  My  husband  is  ill;  I  must  go  to  him. 
I  can't  let  Salome  go.  It  is  winter  up  there  ;  she 
would  lose  all  she  has  gained.  Oh,  Mrs.  Darrah,  how 
shall  I  leave  her  ?  I  know  no  one  but  those  two 
miserable  creatures  out  there  where  we  have  been 
living.  She  can't  stay  there.  I  haven't  time  to  get  her 
a  place  to  live  in,  and  we  have  so  little  money.  But 
she  must  stay  in  Florida,  and  I  must  leave  in  half  an 
hour.  Would  you  help  her  about  a  boarding-place  ? 
Would  you  have  a  little  oversight  in  regard  to  her, 
Mrs.  Darrah  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  paused.  She  had  been  going  to  say, 
"  It  is  dreadful  for  me  to  leave  her,"  but  she  was 
afraid  that  would  sound  weak.  And  she  must  not 
only  be  strong  now,  she  must  also  seem  strong. 

Salome  stood  gazing  at  her  mother. 

"Don't  be  uneasy,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  with  the  ease 
which  plenty  of  money  sometimes  gives.  "  She  can 
stay  here  with  me.  There's  not  the  least  reason  why 
she  should  not.  And  if  I  feel  like  dictating  in  the 
afternoon,  why,  here  she  will  be." 

"  But  the  expense — "  began  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  It  is  no  matter  about  that.     It  will  be  all  right." 

"  I  can't  thank  you  enough  ;  I  shall  have  time  to 
arrange  later,"  began  Mrs.  Gerry.  She  glanced  at  the 
clock.  She  turned  to  her  daughter,  the  tense  expres 
sion  deepening  upon  her  face. 

Without  speaking  Salome  ran  across  the  room, 
snatched  up  her  hat,  and  was  again  by  her  mother's 
side. 

The  two  went  out,  holding  each  other's  hands. 
After  a  moment  Mrs.  Darrah  passed  her  handkerchief 
across  her  eyes. 

The  two  sped  along  the  narrow  streets  towards  the 


266  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

railway  station.  As  they  went  on  Salome  panted 
forth  the  question,  "  What  is  the  matter  with  him?" 

"Typhoid  fever,  your  Uncle  Lemuel  wrote." 

Then  nothing  more  was  said  until  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  station.  They  had  still  ten  minutes.  But 
not  until  the  ticket  was  bought  did  they  speak  again. 

Then  Salome  threw  her  arms  over  her  mother  and 
demanded  rather  than  asked, 

"  Mother,  let  me  go  with  you !" 

"No,  no.     Remember,  it  is  winter.1' 

"  You  will  not  let  me  go  ?" 

"  No  !     It  is  for  your  good  to  stay." 

"  My  good  !     Oh,  what  of  that  ?'' 

"  Salome  !  Do  you  know  how  dear  you  are  to  me  ? 
And,  Salome — " 

Mrs.  Gerry  led  the  girl  out  upon  the  platform.  For 
an  instant  she  held  her  as  we  poor  human  beings 
hold  that  which  is  unutterably  precious,  and  from 
which  we  must  part. 

"Salome,  will  you  tell  the  truth  always  —  always? 
Salome,  you  must !" 

"Yes,  mother" — clinging  to  her — "yes." 

The  train  bell  rang  like  the  signal  of  an  inexorable 
fate. 

Mrs.  Gerry  stepped  into  a  car.  She  was  borne  off 
with  her  white  face  turned  towards  the  white  face  of 
the  girl  standing  on  the  platform. 

Salome  stood  there  for  several  moments.  She  was 
dimly  aware  that  there  were  people  chatting  near  her 
and  sauntering  about — people  who  had  come  down  to 
see  friends  off.  She  even  heard  the  stamping  of 
horses  on  the  other  side  of  the  station  and  the  jangle 
of  the  harness  they  wore.  She  wondered  afterwards 
how  she  could  have  noticed  such  things. 


''HOW  SHOULD  YOU  THINK  OF  YOURSELF?"  267 

Presently  some  one  left  a  group  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  and  came  quickly  to  Salome's  side.  It 
was  Portia.  She  passed  her  hand  through  the  girl's 
arm  with  a  touch  that  was  so  sympathetic  that  Salome 
turned  towards  her  with  a  choked  exclamation.  But 
she  drew  herself  up  instantly. 

"  I  am  very  foolish,''  she  said,  brokenly. 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  I  have  just  come  here  to  meet 
the  Jacksonville  train,"  returned  Portia. 

Salome  stood  up  straight.  She  brought  her  face 
immediately  under  control. 

"  Do  present  me,  Miss  Nunally ;  you  know  you 
promised  to  present  me  to  Miss  Gerry,"  said  a  voice 
behind  Portia,  who  turned  with  an  abruptness  that 
had  something  almost  savage  in  it. 

"  Go  away,  Major  Root,"  she  said,  imperiously, 
"  and  drive  back  alone,  for  I  shall  walk  with  Miss 
Gerry." 

The  Major  stood  in  annoyed  indecision  for  a  little 
time.  But  he  had  confided  to  some  brother  officers 
that  one  reason  why  the  Nunally  was  so  dashed  at 
tractive  was  that  she  never  toadied  to  a  fellow.  She 
was  as  dashed  independent  as  if  she  had  a  million 
dollars  to  her  name ;  and  be  dashed  if  he  didn't  like 
that  kind  of  thing  ;  it  was  so  dashed  different  from 
the  rest  of  the  girls.  He  said  "gals"  when  in  con 
versation  with  those  brother  officers. 

Now  he  walked  away  with  that  small  strut  which  is 
often  apparent  in  a  man  who  is  not  very  tall,  yet  who 
is  conscious  of  being  an  army  officer. 

But  by  the  time  he  had  mounted  his  dog-cart  and 
v:as  driving  away,  he  thought  he  was  very  angry.  He 
had  been  going  to  do  that  Miss  Gerry  an  honor  by 
being  presented  to  her.  And  there  was  something 


268  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

interesting  about  her.  Perhaps  the  Nunally  didn't 
want  him  to  know  too  many  "  other  gals."  He 
chuckled  slightly  at  this  thought,  and  this  chuckle 
helped  to  restore  him  to  a  better  humor.  Portia 
wouldn't  tell  him  to  go  away  when  she  was  his  wife. 
He  chuckled  again  at  this  idea.  He  glanced  back. 
There  the  two  were  coming  along  the  road  arm  in 
arm.  They  were  talking  earnestly  ;  or,  rather,  Portia 
was  talking.  It  was  all  make  believe,  of  course,  this 
appearance  of  interest.  Women  really  disliked  each 
other.  Of  course,  it  was  dashed  natural  that  they 
should  dislike  each  other  •  and  it  was  still  more 
dashed  natural  that  they  should  pretend  to  care. 
And  the  Major  chuckled  again. 

])ehind  him  Miss  Nunally  had  just  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  looking  towards  his  broad  back,  and  had 
said  that  she  wished  old  Root  would  drive  on  out  of 
sight.  She  was  likely  to  see  enough  of  him  in  the 
years  to  come,  but  now — another  shrug  finished  the 
sentence.  She  turned  to  her  companion,  who  was 
by  this  time  perfectly  composed,  apparently.  She 
spoke  in  her  sweetest  manner,  and  Portia's  sweetest 
manner  was  seldom  resisted.  She  assured  Salome 
that  a  journey  North  was  nothing  ;  that  Mrs.  Gerry 
would  soon  send  a  telegram.  And  Portia  felt  sure 
that  it  would  be  good  news  that  would  come. 

"  Why  not  look  forward  to  good  news  ?''  she  said. 
"  And  meanwhile  we  must  find  a  home  for  you  in 
town.  You  can't  stay  there  in  that  place  my  aunt 
calls  so  definitely  'beyond  the  Maria  Sanchez.'  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Salome,  "  Mrs.  Darrah  has  been  so 
kind.  I  am  to  stay  with  her." 

"  At  the  Ponce  ?" 

Miss  Nunallv  halted  as  she  asked  this. 


"HOW    SHOULD    YOU    THINK    OF    YOURSELF?"     269 

"  Yes.  But  I  hope  it  will  only  be  for  a  week  or 
two.  Mother  will  write  to  me  what  to  do.  And  she 
will  come  back,  I  suppose,  if  father — • 

She  stopped  abruptly,  unable  to  go  on.  She  felt 
that  she  could  not  endure  the  suspense  of  the  next 
few  days.  No,  she  simply  could  not  endure  it.  But 
hour  after  hour  must  go  on,  and  she  must  live  through 
those  hours  as  best  she  could. 

"Don't  worry,"  said  Portia,  gently.  "Don't  let  us 
run  to  meet  the  future,  whatever  it  is  to  be.  And  you 
are  to  be  at  the  Ponce  ?'' 

She  seemed  to  dwell  in  a  peculiar  manner  upon 
this  fact. 

"  I  shall  be  a  little  graybird  among  all  the  fine 
feathers,"  was  the  response.  "  But  I  shall  not  be 
seen.  I  don't  care  for  all  the  gayety  there ;  and  it 
cannot  be  for  long." 

"  No,''  repeated  Portia,  "  it  cannot  be  for  long. 
But  are  you  going  to  shut  yourself  up  and  brood  over 
the  bad  news  ?" 

"  I  can't  help  brooding  over  it,"  was  the  reply. 
"  And  then  it  would  seem  disloyal,  some  way,  if  I 
were  able  to  forget  it.'' 

"  You  mean  you  think  your  father  and  mother 
would  be  happier  if  they  knew  you  were  miserable  ?" 
said  Portia. 

Salome  smiled.  She  was  greatly  comforted  by  her 
companion's  presence.  She  had  never  seen  Portia  in 
precisely  this  mood  before.  She  knew  that  Miss  Nu- 
nally  was  many-sided,  but  the  exquisite  tenderness 
of  her  face  and  manner  now  were  something  she  had 
not  previously  experienced.  She  could  not  help  feel 
ing  it  keenly  even  in  the  midst  of  her  anxiety. 

When  they  reached  the  old  coquina  gate   Miss  Nu- 


270  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

nally  paused  and  held  Salome  back.  A  group  of 
horseback  riders  was  just  trotting  briskly  into  the 
city  from  that  long  stretch  of  road  where  later  the 
sweetness  of  the  yellow  jasmine  would  be  filling  the 
air  everywhere. 

Now  every  rider  wore  a  small  knot  of  violets, 
which  had  been  picked  among  the  thickets  of  jas 
mine  and  glossy  leaved  greenery  which  rioted  in  rich 
life  beyond  the  city. 

At  sight  of  Miss  Nunally  the  hats  of  the  young 
men  came  off,  and  their  somewhat  jaded  faces  showed 
the  interest  her  presence  was  almost  sure  to  waken. 
Some  of  them  turned  to  look  again  at  that  girl  who 
stood  quietly  beside  Portia,  gazing  with  melancholy, 
absent  glance  at  the  cavalcade. 

One  or  two  were  able  to  lell  the  others  that  she  was 
the  little  type-writer,  or  something  of  that  sort,  whom 
the  Darrah  woman  employed,  don't  you  know.  They 
had  seen  her  going  swiftly  along  some  gallery  or  bal 
cony  of  the  Ponce  de  Leon.  If  she  were  only  dressed 
like  the  Nunally,  don't  you  see  she  would  be — well, 
it  was  really  impossible  to  tell  exactly  what  she  would 
be.  As  it  was,  she  was  kind  of  an  interesting  little 
thing,  eh  ? 

Then  they  had  all  trotted  and  cantered  by  and  were 
talking  of  the  engagement,  suspected,  but  not  yet  an 
nounced,  of  Major  Root  and  Miss  Nunally.  The 
men  didn't  know  how  that  filly  would  behave  in  har 
ness,  and  the  women  wondered  that  a  man  like  the 
Major  should  think  of  marrying  again. 

The  girls  remained  standing.  Salome  appeared  to 
have  forgotten  that  there  was  any  reason  why  she 
should  go  on.  Portia  was  studying  her  with  undis 
guised  interest,  and  she  was  pitying  her  also,  with  a 


"HOW    SHOULD   YOU   THINK    OF   YOURSELF?"     271 

kind  of  pity  that  would  not  have  angered  the  receiver 
of  it. 

"  Do  not  let  us  go  to  the  hotel  now,"  she  said,  at 
last.  "  Let  us  take  a  boat.  It  is  soothing  to  be  on 
the  water.  One  begins  to  feel  better  without  know 
ing  why." 

Salome  followed  the  guidance  of  the  other.  They 
went  down  to  the  wharves.  Portia  chose  a  trim  row- 
boat,  and  ordered  about  the  owner  of  it  as  she  ordered 
every  one  whose  business  at  the  moment  was  to 
serve  her. 

The  man  was  about  to  step  into  the  craft  when  he 
was  told  that  he  was  not  wanted. 

"  But  you,  lady,  can't  manage  a  bo't  yourself  ?" 

"  Can  I  not  ?''  was  the  response.  "  But  we  are  go 
ing  without  you.  Come,"  extending  both  hands  to 
Salome. 

The  boat  went  slowly  out  among  the  yachts  that 
swung  at  anchor  all  along  the  coast  of  the  town. 

Portia  rowed  well,  as  she  did  everything.  She  took 
off  her  gloves  and  pulled  her  hat  forward  over  her 
eyes.  Occasionally  she  would  look  at  the  girl  who 
sat  almost  motionless  in  front  of  her.  She  saw  the 
strained  expression  give  way  somewhat. 

Half-way  over  towards  the  island  Salome  started 
forward. 

"I  had  forgotten  Mrs.  Darrah!"  she  exclaimed. 
"She  was  dictating  when  mother  came.  And  she  has 
been  so  kind.  I  must  go  back." 

"  But  you  cannot  swim,  and  I  am  going  to  the 
North  Beach,"  returned  Portia. 

"  She  has  been  so  kind,"  repeated  Salome,  leaning 
forward.  "  You  don't  know  how  kind  she  has  been 
about  the — " 


272  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

She  paused  just  as  she  was  about  to  utter  the  word 
"  check."  It  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  not  she  her 
self  who  refrained  from  speaking  that  word.  She  her 
self  would  have  been  willing  to  pronounce  it.  She 
did  not  know  what  it  was  which  held  her  back. 

She  felt  a  strong  desire  to  tell  Miss  Nunally  about 
that  check.  It  was  just  possible  that  Miss  Nunally 
would  understand  and  would  not  be  so  shocked.  She 
had  not  told  any  one  save  Mrs.  Darrah,  because  she 
was  quite  sure  everybody  would  be  so  shocked. 
And  she  remembered  very  well  what  Moore  had  said 
about  forgery.  She  supposed  that  was  the  general 
feeling.  Of  course,  it  was  wrong  ;  but  then  there 
were  a  great  many  things  wrong  about  which  there 
was  no  such  feeling  as  that. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Portia,  calmly.  "  I  know  my  aunt 
has  been  kind.  She  has  done  a  great  deal  for  me. 
But  she  will  forgive  you  ;  and  I  will  explain  that  it 
was  my  fault.  It  puts  one  in  such  a  generous  attitude 
to  say  'it  was  my  fault.'  Do  let  me  have  the  pleas 
ure  of  putting  myself  in  that  light.  Just  give  your 
self  up  to  the  influence  of  this  air  and  water.  Was 
there  ever  anything  more  beautiful  ?  Let  us  drift 
away  out  into  the  Gulf  Stream  and  be  carried  down 
to  those  islands  of  the  blest." 

A  quick  light  came  over  Salome's  face.  She 
pressed  her  hands  together. 

"  To  the  West  Indies  ?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  smiling. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  let  us  go  !"  went  on  Salome,  still  more 
eagerly.  "  If  we  only  might  sail  right  down  there  ! 
But  no — "  the  light  dying  out  and  leaving  her  more 
pallid  than  before.  "  Of  course  we  cannot  go.  How 
foolish  I  am  !" 


"HOW    SHOULD    YOU    THINK    OF    YOURSELF?"     273 

Portia,  who  had  spoken  in  jest,  was  for  the  moment 
alarmed. 

"You  are  certainly  a  very  strange  Yankee  girl,"  she 
said,  after  a  silence. 

"  I  am  not  a  Yankee  girl  at  all,"  Salome  answered, 
with  some  pride. 

Portia  was  alarmed  again. 

"  Surely,"  she  began  ;  then  she  stopped.  She  drew 
in  her  oars  quickly  and  reached  forward  to  her  com 
panion,  taking  both  her  hands  in  a  firm  clasp. 

The  boat  rocked  gently.  The  sands  of  Anastasia 
Beach  glittered  before  them.  Behind  them,  quaint, 
shabby,  sumptuous  St.  Augustine  lay  in  the  brilliant 
sunshine. 

"  Miss  Gerry — Salome  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Xunally. 
Then  she  tried  to  speak  in  her  ordinary  tone : 
"  What  are  you,  then  ?"  she  asked. 

Salome  gazed  about  her.  An  expression  of  exalt 
ed  passion  came  to  her  face. 

"I  am  Southern  —  Southern  to  the  core  of  my 
heart !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  hope  I  shall  never  see 
New  England  again.  I  was  dead — dead — there.  You 
don't  believe  me.  I  have  kept  myself  calm,  as  if  I 
were  cold.  I  hate  coldness.  1  am  West  Indian. 
The  sun — oh,  Miss  Nunally,  do  you  know  what  it 
is  to  love  the  sun  and  warmth  and  richness,  and  to 
hate  clouds  and  cold  and  meagreness  ?  And  to  have 
to  be  self-controlled  and  calm  all  the  time  ?  And 
to  keep  thinking  whether  a  thing  is  right  or  not?" 

Here  the  girl  paused  to  glance  attentively  at  Portia, 
who  was  still  holding  her  hands  and  looking  at  her 
with  the  alarm  she  could  not  quite  subdue. 

"  You  think  I  have  suddenly  gone  insane,  Miss  Nu 
nally,"  she  said,  "  but  I  haven't.  I'm  perfectly  sane. 
18 


274  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

Only  a  little  " — she  laughed — "  just  a  very  little  drunk 
with  being  in  Florida,  and,  really,  I  am  a  West  Indian. 
That  accounts,  doesn't  it  ?"  She  now  spoke  with  the 
greatest  rapidity.  "  I  only  knew  just  a  short  time  ago 
that  my  mother's  grandfather  was  born  here  on  one 
of  these  islands.  You  see  nobody  has  inherited  from 
him  but  me.  I  am  sure  of  that — sure  of  that.  All  the 
fire  and  ardor  in  his  blood  have  come  to  me— to  me. 
It  skipped  those  between  me  and  him.  Oh,  he  would 
have  understood  me.  He  would  not  have  wondered 
at  me.  And  when  those  surges  of  glorious  feeling  which 
go  over  my  soul — when  they  come,  if  I  could  have  told 
him  he  would  not  have  looked  as  you  do  now, 
Miss  Nunally ;  he  would  have  understood.  And  he 
was  never  obliged  to  be  cold  and  self-constrained  be 
cause  he  was  born  in  Massachusetts  and  brought  up 
to  think  that — that  ice  was  the  only  respectable  thing 
in  the  world." 

Salome  nearly  stammered  in  her  hurry  to  speak. 

She  came  to  a  pause  now.  Her  face  was  shining, 
with  no  color  in  it  save  in  the  lips.  It  was  so  re 
splendent  that  the  girl  opposite,  who  was  staring  fix 
edly  at  her,  felt  a  quick  start  of  pulses  in  vague  but 
powerful  sympathy. 

"  But — but — "  began  Portia,  hurriedly.  Then  she 
gave  her  laugh.  It  echoed  softly  about  them. 

"  I  am  not  precisely  the  person  to  preach,"  she  con 
tinued,  "  but  self-control  is  certainly  something  to 
strive  for.  We  are  very  little  save  animals  if  we  have 
not  that  virtue.  We  want  a  mask  ready  to  put  on,  to 
keep  on  most  of  the  time.  A  heart  on  one's  sleeve — 

"Pshaw!"  interrupted  Salome.  "You  don't  know 
what  I  mean.  Oh,  do  pardon  me ;  I  did  not  intend 
to  be  disrespectful.  I  don't  think  I  want  to  say  any 


"HOW    SHOULD    YOU   THINK    OF    YOURSELF?"     275 

more.  Are  we  going  to  the  North  Beach  ?  You  know 
we  cannot  get  into  the  Gulf  Stream  unless  we  go  out 
side.  And  we  can't  go  outside  in  this  boat.  We  are 
always  hampered,  are  we  not  ?" 

Miss  Nunally  did  not  reply.  She  felt  that  her  own 
shallow  disregard  of  the  conventions  was  very  shallow 
indeed  when  compared  with  the  underlying  something 
in  her  companion's  character.  She  was  deeply  inter 
ested.  She  took  up  the  oars  and  rowed  for  some  time 
in  silence.  She  was  thinking  that  this  girl  had  only 
been  veneered  by  her  Northern  birth  and  upbringing, 
and  that  the  superficial  covering  was  revealing  what 
was  underneath. 

Salome  was  now  sitting  in  an  attitude  of  perfect 
calm.  Only  upon  her  face  there  still  remained  the 
glow,  fading  somewhat,  of  a  few  moments  since. 

"  I  have  almost  a  mind  to  tell  you  something,"  now 
remarked  Salome. 

"  I  am  listening,"  was  the  response. 

"  Are  you  easily  shocked  ?"  asked  Salome. 

"  I  could  almost  say  that  it  is  impossible  to  shock 
me,"  answered  Miss  Nunally. 

Salome  was  wondering  why  she  felt  so  impelled  to 
tell  about  that  check  to  which  she  had  put  Mrs. 
Darrah's  name. 

"  I  thought,  since  you  are  going  to  marry  Major 
Root,  that  of  course  you  would  not  be  shocked  by — 
by  trifles,"  said  Salome.  "  But  that  is  a  rude  speech, 
isn't  it?" 

"Rather,  I  should  say."  Portia  had  colored  with 
anger.  "  But  go  on.  We  may  be  shocked  by  very 
different  things." 

"  Yes  ;  that  is  true.  Now,  I  cannot  imagine  a  wom 
an  doing  as  you  intend  to  do.  While,  perhaps,  you 


276 

cannot  imagine  doing  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you. 
And  perhaps  you  will  know  whether  I  ought  to  in 
form  Mr.  Moore." 

"  I  can  advise  you  on  that  subject  directly.  Make 
no  confessions  to  him.  Men  never  confess  anything. 
They  don't  think  it  worth  while,  and  why  should  we  ? 
I  suppose  you  have  loved  somebody  else — are  still 
engaged  to  him.  Nothing  is  more  common." 

"  No,  no.     It  is  about  a — well,  it  is  about — 

"Boat  ahoy!" 

As  this  call  came  from  the  direction  of  the  town, 
Miss  Nunally  uttered  an  impatient  exclamation.  The 
two  looked  back.  They  both  felt  that  it  was  they  who 
had  been  hailed,  although  there  wrere  many  other 
craft  on  the  river. 

There  was  a  small  sailboat  coming  directly  towards 
them.  The  sail  caught  the  wind  and  was  distended 
stiffly.  In  the  bows  there  stood  a  man  with  his  hat 
off.  He  was  waving  that  hat  towards  them.  The  light 
struck  his  white  forehead,  his  tanned  face,  and  yellow 
beard. 

"  Boat  ahoy  !"  he  shouted  again.  "  Where  are  you 
bound?" 

Salome  did  not  speak.  But  she  had  instantly  recog 
nized  Moore. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  him?"  asked  Miss  Nunally, 
quickly. 

"Anything  you  please." 

"  He  will  ask  to  take  us  into  his  boat,"  said  Miss 
Nunally.  "  You  know  such  an  arrangement  will  make 
our  trip  a  very  different  thing.  But  if  you  want  him, 
Miss  Gerry — " 

"  Where  are  you  bound  ?"  now  shouted  Moore  again. 
He  was  bearing  down  rapidly  upon  them. 


"HOW  SHOULD  YOU  THINK  OF  YOURSELF?''   277 

"  No,  no,"  said  Salome.     "Answer  what  you  please." 

"  For  the  North  Beach."  Miss  Nunally  had  again 
drawn  in  her  oars.  She  put  a  hand  on  each  side  of 
her  mouth  as  she  called  back. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Moore.  Portia  looked  at  her  com 
panion  as  she  said,  interrogatively, 

"  We  can't  forbid  him  the  North  Beach,  I  suppose  ?v 

Salome  shook  her  head.  "No;  but  tell  him  we 
want  to  go  by  ourselves." 

Portia  resumed  her  oars.  "  You  may  give  him  that 
terrible  information,"  she  said.  "  He  may  cast  him 
self  into  the  sea  and  drown  himself.  I'm  not  going 
to  be  responsible." 

Salome  now  turned,  and  for  the  first  time  really 
looked  at  the  occupant  of  the  sailboat,  which  was 
skimming  along  with  the  somewhat  leisurely  but  sure 
motion  of  a  water-fowl. 

Moore  bent  forward  as  she  turned ;  he  iking  up  his 
hat  again.  He  was  now  so  near  that  she  could  see 
the  expression  of  his  face.  Seeing  him  thus  she  re 
called  his  frequent  use  of  the  word  "  cruel "  in  regard 
to  her.  She  knew  that  she  was  never  cruel,  and  she 
knew  also  that  he  did  not  really  think  that  she  was. 

It  was  very  difficult,  however,  at  this  moment  to  say 
as  she  did  : 

"  We  want  to  go  to  the  North  Peach  —  by  our 
selves.'' 

She  saw  the  cloud  come  over  the  young  man's  coun 
tenance.  Put  he  would  not  yield  before  Miss  Nu 
nally  to  that  sentimental  mood. 

"Won't  the  prayers — the  tears — of  a  poor  wretch 
move  you  ?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  with  gay  decision. 

"Very  well."      The    sailboat  was    now  alongside. 


278  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  I  shall  take  my  revenge  by  hanging  round  and  pick 
ing  you  two  out  of  the  water  after  you  have  capsized 
this  mere  eggshell,  as  you  surely  will  do." 

"  We  give  you  full  permission  to  save  us  from  a 
watery  grave." 

Miss  Nunally  glanced  in  some  surprise  at  Salome, 
who,  it  seemed,  was  at  times  quite  capable  of  not 
wearing  her  heart  on  her  sleeve. 

"  And  when  you  are  saved,  how  bitterly  you  will 
wish  you  had  been  kind  to  me  now." 

Moore  avoided  looking  at  Salome  as  he  spoke.  He 
was  holding  the  gunwale  of  the  row-boat,  and  his  eyes 
were  turned  everywhere  but  in  her  direction.  But  in 
reality  he  saw  nothing  save  that  figure,  with  its  pale 
face  looking  towards  him  with  what  seemed  to  him  a 
very  reprehensible  self-possession.  He  almost  wished 
that  he  might  have  the  chance  of  saving  her  from 
drowning.  If  he  did,  she  would,  perhaps,  have  that 
expression  which  he  so  well  remembered.  He  thought 
it  a  distinct  wrong  to  him  that  she  was  able  to  be  so 
thoroughly  calm.  He  quite  forgot  for  the  time  that 
he  was  giving  nearly  his  whole  attention  to  the  effort 
towards  being  calm  and  conventional  himself.  But 
when  were  lovers  reasonable  ? 

He  still  held  the  gunwale.  He  knew  that  Miss 
Nunally  was  gazing  at  him  with  a  smile  on  her  face. 
He  knew  very  well  that  he  ought  not  to  remain  a 
moment  longer.  And  still  he  did  not  go. 

This  meant,  then,  not  only  that  he  could  not  go 
with  Salome  now,  but  that  he  should  miss  walking 
out  to  the  truck  farm  with  her.  This  thought  made 
him  frown,  and  it  also  made  him  say  to  himself  that 
she  cared  very  little  about  seeing  him.  Every  mo 
ment  since  he  left  her  he  had  been  looking  forward  to 


"HOW    SHOULD    YOU    THINK    OF    YOURSELF?"     279 

that  walk.     And  now  how  coolly  she  had  made  it  im 
possible  ! 

His  bright  face  clouded  perceptibly.  If  she  did 
not  care,  he  would  also  try  not  to  care.  Certainly 
she  was  indifferent.  Did  she  not  look  so  ?  And 
why  need  she  have  deliberately  come  out  on  the 
river  with  Miss  Nunally  ?  There  was  really  no 
reason. 

Having  in  about  three  minutes'  time  wrought  him 
self  into  an  acute  state  of  indignant  anguish,  Moore 
now  relinquished  his  hold  upon  the  row-boat.  He 
raised  his  hat  with  frigid  ceremony,  and  his  boat  slid 
off  over  the  ruffled  surface  of  the  water. 

Salome  carefully  refrained  from  glancing  towards 
that  boat.  Hut  Miss  Nunally  looked  at  it,  and  at  its 
occupant,  who  did  not  turn  his  head  from  its  straight 
forward  position. 

"  What  curious  animals  lovers  are  !"  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  began  to  row. 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  remark.  Presently  she 
continued  : 

"  Mr.  Moore  wanted  to  pitch  me  over  into  the  water, 
and  then  have  it  out  with  you  because  you  had  been 
guilty  of  not  knowing  that  he  also  would  be  boating 
this  morning." 

Still  no  response. 

"  Perhaps  you  want  to  pitch  me  over  the  boat's  side, 
Miss  Gerry  ?" 

"  No." 

"  It  is  not  too  late  to  call  Mr.  Moore  back.  If  you 
quite  grovel  in  your  apology  to  him  he  may  forgive  you 
for  not  knowing  that  you  might  have  spent  this  time 
with  him.  Shall  I  call  him  ?" 

"  No." 


2&0  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

Silence,  during  which  Miss  Nunally  rowed  with  great 
vigor. 

"  May  I  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,  Miss  Gerry  ?' 
she  asked. 

"  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would." 

"Well,  then,  it  is  this  :  if  there  is  anything  that  you 
think  you  ought  to  tell  Mr.  Moore,  don't  tell  him." 

Salome's  face  changed  to  a  look  of  intense  interest, 
and  was  there  also  a  hint  of  relief  in  it  ? 

"Oh,  why  do  you  think  so  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  think  so  on  general  principles.  And  particularly 
about  him.  He  is  intolerant  in  regard  to  women,  I 
am  sure.  He  thinks  he  respects  women.  Now,  be 
ware  of  the  man  who  thinks  he  respects  women — that 
is,  if  you  have  to  sue  for  his  forgiveness." 

Salome  did  not  change  her  position,  but  she  seemed 
to  become  rigid  as  she  sat  there.  Her  mind  was  in  a 
pitiable  state  of  confusion. 

"  Do  you  feel  sure  about  this  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  am  sure  that  is  the  way  I  should  do." 

Salome  had  a  feeling  that  Miss  Nunally  and  she 
might  view  things  very  differently.  But  then  it  was 
not  probable  that  Miss  Nunally  had  committed  a 
crime.  That  word  "  crime  "  always  had  a  strange  effect 
upon  Salome's  consciousness.  She  both  defied  it 
and  shrank  from  it.  And  she  did  not  feel  at  all  like 
a  criminal.  She  wondered  if  all  criminals  had  this 
absence  of  any  conviction  of  sin.  She  was  glad 
her  father  had  the  money,  doubly  glad  now  that  he 
was  ill.  All  the  feeling  she  had  was  that  she  hated 
to  have  people  shocked  when  they  knew  what  she  had 
done.  And  yet  something,  she  had  not  the  least  idea 
what  it  was,  but  something,  was  often  urging  her  to 
tell. 


"HOW  SHOULD  YOU  THINK  OF  YOURSELF?"  281 

There  were  brief  periods  when  she  was  almost  afraid 
that  she  was  not  entirely  rid  of  that  conscience  which 
had  so  goaded  and  tormented  her  when  she  was  an 
invalid  at  home.  But  these  periods  were  very  brief, 
and  were  becoming  more  and  more  rare. 

Salome  felt  moments  of  acute  curiosity  as  to  what 
Miss  Nunally  would  think  did  she  know  of  the  forgery. 
This  curiosity  gained  in  morbid  strength  as  the  two 
girls  strolled  over  the  wide,  solitary  expanse  of  the 
North  Beach. 

They  had  tied  their  boat  to  the  little  wharf  on  the 
Matanzas  side,  and  walked  across  to  the  ocean  shore. 
It  had  taken  them  a  long  time  to  come  across  the 
water,  and  Portia  was  weary.  She  was  annoyed, 
too.  That  scene  with  Moore,  short  as  it  had  been, 
had  irritated  her,  and  her  annoyance  did  not  lessen. 
But  Salome  felt  her  spirits  rising  ;  only  they  were  held 
clown  by  the  always  present  thought  of  her  mother 
travelling  on  towards  the  North.  She  was  never  out- 
of-doors  long  in  this  climate  and  among  these  sur 
roundings  without  growing  to  think  of  herself  as  some 
thing  like  a  soulless  barbarian,  whose  only  life  was  this 
life  —  beautiful,  full  of  enchantment.  If  only  those 
whom  she  loved  would  not  be  ill.  If  only  she  might 
not  love  too  well.  She  was  beginning  to  have  a  sus 
picion  that  it  might  be  better  not  to  love  anything. 
In  that  case  she  could  disport  herself  in  this  sunshine 
without  any  of  that  vague  but  intensely  delightful  un 
rest  which  now  so  often  oppressed  her.  But  love — 
could  she  really  give  that  up  ? 

She  stood  with  her  hands  full  of  those  shining  shells 
and  pebbles  which  people  cannot  help  gathering  when 
they  walk  on  these  Florida  beaches.  Her  hat  was 
pushed  back  ;  her  hair  was  flying  about  her  face. 


282  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

Miss  Nunally,  walking  towards  her,  told  herself 
that  really  Salome  Gerry  had  the  pose  at  this  moment 
of  some  kind  of  a  sublimated  human  being.  Were 
there  ever  eyes  so  full  of  heaven — and  of  earth  also? 

"  If  I  loved  that  woman,"  thought  Miss  Nunally, 
smiling  quietly  as  she  quoted,  "  I  should  love  but  her, 
and  her  forever." 

Salome  heard  the  approaching  footsteps.  But  she 
did  not  turn  her  head.  She  continued  to  gaze  out  sea 
ward.  The  ocean,  at  its  lowest  ebb,  was  faintly  sliding 
up  the  shore. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something/'  said  Salome. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Miss  Nunally. 

"  If  you  had  committed  a  forgery,  how  should  you 
think  of  yourself  ?" 


XVI 

QUESTIONING 

PORTIA  did  not  reply  directly.  The  question  put 
to  her  had  something  of  the  suddenness  and  the  force 
of  a  blow.  As  soon  as  she  could  speak  she  said  : 

"  If  I  had  done  that,  and  if  I  were  engaged  to 
marry  Randolph  Moore,  I  should  take  great  precau 
tions  lest  he  should  know  of  it." 

Salome  could  not  imagine  why  these  words  should 
make  her  immediately  think  more  seriously  than  ever 
that  she  would  tell  Moore. 

She  dropped  the  shells  and  the  pebbles  she  had  been 
gathering.  She  thought  that  Miss  Nunally  had  never 
before  said  anything  which  really  repelled  her. 

"  Let  us  go  up  there  and  sit  clown  on  that  piece  of 
driftwood,"  she  proposed,  after  an  interval  of  silence. 
"  I  am  tired." 

As  the  two  walked  slowly  through  the  heavy  sand, 
Salome  asked  when  was  the  very  earliest  that  her 
mother  could  reach  home. 

After  a  little  calculation  Portia  replied.  She  spoke 
somewhat  coldly.  She  had  a  suspicion  that  her  com 
panion  was  trying  to  play  upon  her  credulity. 

The  two  sat  down  on  the  old  timber. 

"  I  really  did  do  it,"  said  Salome,  after  another  si 
lence.  She  was  sure  that  Miss  Nunally  had  not 
believed  her,  and  she  was  now  fully  resolved  to  try 


284  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

the  effect  of  a  confession  on  this  girl  who,  Salome  be 
lieved,  was  going  to  do  a  far  worse  thing  than  she 
had  done. 

The  kind  of  sin  to  which  we  have  no  inclination, 
which  does  not  hold  for  us  the  least  temptation,  is 
the  kind  of  sin  which  shocks  us  greatly. 

Miss  Nunally  was  leaning  forward  on  one  elbow, 
her  face  turned  so  that  she  might  gaze  fully  at  the 
girl  beside  her.  At  last  she  laughed,  and  said  : 

"I  don't  believe  it."  Then  she  laughed  again,  and 
continued,  "  When  you  go  back  to  the  hotel,  look  in 
a  mirror  and  tell  me  if  you  believe  it  yourself." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  responded 
Salome,  "but  it  is  true." 

"  Good  heavens !"  cried  Portia.  She  lifted  her 
head  and  looked  about  her.  She  turned  to  Salome, 
and  said,  kindly, 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  worrying  too  much  about  your 
father's  illness." 

"  And  so  am  not  quite  right  in  my  mind.  Is  that 
what  you  mean  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  you  are  entirely  mistaken,"  with  great  dig 
nity.  "  I'm  perfectly  right  in  my  mind.  And  I  have 
forged." 

Miss  Nunally's  effort  to  be  calm  and  judicial  was 
evident. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  "if  you  give  me  particulars  I 
shall  be  able  to  understand.  Particulars  are  some 
times  very  convincing  when  a  broad,  general  state 
ment  has  no  effect." 

"Yes,"  promptly  answered  Salome,  "I  see  that. 
It  was  Mrs.  Darrah's  name  I  put  on  a  check  for 
my  father.  He  needed  money  immediately.  It  was 


QUESTIONING  285 

for  eight  hundred  dollars.  I'm  going  to  pay  it 
back." 

Portia  was  still  trying  to  be  calm,  and  not  "  let  her 
feelings  run  away  with  her." 

"  Now  do  you  believe  me  ?"  asked  Salome. 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  you.     I  wish  you  hadn't  told  me." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  that?'' 

"  Because  I  don't  like  to  be  so  confused  as  I  am 
now." 

"  Confused  ?  Oh,  I  suppose  you  did  not  expect  me 
to  be  a  forger  ?'' 

"  No,  I  didn't.  Really,  Miss  Gerry,  you  make  my 
head  go  round  so  that  I  can't  think." 

"  I  will  not  speak  for  a  few  minutes  ;  then  your 
head  may  stop  going  round,"  was  the  reply. 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  the  two  figures  sat 
almost  motionless,  with  faces  turned  towards  the 
ocean. 

It  was  Salome  who  spoke  first. 

"  It  was  for  father,"  she  said.  "  But  I  don't  mean 
that  for  an  excuse.  I'm  not  excusing  myself." 

"  Does  my  aunt  know  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  How  did  she  discover  it  ?" 

"  Why,"  in  surprise,  "  I  told  her  !" 

Portia  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand  again. 

"  Your  character  is  just  as  puzzling  as  your  face," 
she  said.  "  I  suppose,  after  you  had  done  this  thing, 
what  you  call  your  conscience  stepped  in  and  made 
you  confess  it." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Salome. 

"  Do  you  know  why  you  tell  me  ?"  was  the  next  in 
quiry. 

Salome  hesitated. 


286  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  I  wanted  to  know  how  it  would  strike  you,"  she 
at  last  answered. 

"  Well,  how  does  it  strike  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  greatly  shocked  and  repelled." 

Salome  gave  this  reply  in  tones  so  sorrowful  that 
Miss  Nunally's  face  softened  perceptibly.  But  she 
did  not  give  way  to  this  feeling  in  words. 

"  May  I  ask  why  you  did  not  request  Aunt  Flor 
ence  to  lend  you  the  money  ?" 

"  It  was  so  sudden,  you  know.  And  I  had  heard 
you  say  she  thought  a  good  deal  of  her  money.  And 
father  must  have  it  directly.  And  there  was  her 
check-book,  and  I  could  imitate  her  hand.  And, 
really,  it  did  not  seem  so  dreadful." 

"  There  was  nothing  in  you  that  held  you  back  ?" 

"  No  ;  there  didn't  seem  to  be.  Something  sprang 
right  up  in  me  that  said,  '  Do  it,'  just  as  if  it  had  been 
waiting,  you  see,  to  spring  up  when  the  right  time 
came.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  shrunk;  but  I  didn't." 

"  But  where  was  yourj»5nscience  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  with  some  weariness. 

Portia  was  looking  with  the  keenest  interest  at  her 
companion. 

"  Then  it  wasn't  what  as  children  we  would  have 
called  a  real,  truly  conscience,  after  all,  that  you  used 
to  have  ?"  she  inquired. 

"I  don't  know,"  Salome  said,  again.  "I  suppose  it 
was  only  my  bringing  up  ;  and  bringing  up  sometimes 
drops  away  from  one.  Mine  has,  I  think." 

"  And  it  is  now  that  you  are  the  real  Salome 
Gerry  ?" 

"  I  believe  so  ;  I'm  almost  sure  of  it." 

"  Don't  tell  Mr.  Moore,"  Portia  said,  sharply. 
"  Don't  try  any  of  these  effects  on  him." 


QUESTIONING  287 

Salome  said  nothing.  When  they  were  in  the  boat 
and  Portia  was  rowing  steadily  back,  Salome  asked 
the  question  which  had  been  in  her  mind  all  the  time. 

"  Miss  Nunally,  could  you  have  done  it  ?" 

"No!" 

Salome  shrank  a  little.  It  was  some  moments  be 
fore  she  said : 

"  And  yet—" 

"  And  yet " — Portia  took  up  the  words—"  I  am  going 
to  marry  Major  Root.  It  seems  to  me  I  wrong  my 
self  most  of  all.  But  you,  when  you  forged — 

Salome  interrupted  in  her  turn  : 

"  When  we  sin  it  is  always  ourselves  we  wrong  most 
of  all,  isn't  it  ?" 

Miss  Nunally  made  a  false  stroke  with  one  oar  and 
the  boat  veered  almost  into  another  craft.  When  she 
was  going  on  steadily  again  she  said  that  it  was  of  no 
use  talking ;  one  might  talk  forever  and  come  right 
back  to  the  same  place  again.  There  were  some 
things  one  felt. 

Salome  leaned  forward  timidly.  There  was  a 
quiver  on  her  mouth  as  she  asked  : 

"  Now  I  have  told  you  that,  do  you  feel  repelled  by 
me  ?" 

Portia  held  her  oars  poised  in  the  air.  The  two 
girls  gazed  at  each  other.  Portia's  face  softened  still 
more. 

"  I  ought  to  feel  repelled,"  she  said. 

"  But  do  you  ?"  persisted  the  other. 

Miss  Nunally's  eyes  suddenly  filled.  She  could 
not  see  the  face  before  her,  with  its  piercing  pathos  of 
expression.  She  drew  in  an  oar  and  held  out  her 
hand,  grasping  tightly  the  hand  given  in  response. 

"  No  ;  you  don't  repel  me  in  the  least,"  she  replied, 


288  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

with  strong  emphasis.  "  More  than  that,  I  cannot 
imagine  being  repelled  by  you,  whatever  you  had 
done." 

Salome's  look  grew  brighter.  She  would  not  re 
lease  the  hand  she  held.  But  immediately  a  cloud 
came  over  her. 

"  Still,  that  may  be  a  mere  matter  of  personal  pres 
ence  or  influence,"  she  said.  "  That  has  nothing  to 
do  with  morals,  after  all." 

"  No,  indeed,"  was  the  response  ;  "  not  anything  to 
do  with  morals." 

Salome  let  go  her  companion's  hand.  Her  whole 
figure  seemed  to  droop  for  a  moment. 

"  I  cannot  understand  things,"  she  exclaimed  at 
last.  "  I  try  to  reason.  When  I  recall  the  old  teach 
ing  I  received,  I  try  to  repent.  But  I  don't  repent  in 
the  least." 

"But  don't  you  feel  sorry  that  you  did  that  ?"  asked 
Miss  Nunally. 

"  No  ;  I  only  feel  sorry  if  those  I  love  are  going  to 
be  grieved  when  they  know  it." 

"  Then  don't  tell  them.  I  judge  that  my  aunt  has 
condoned  the  offence.  It  all  rests  with  you  whether 
it  be  known  or  not." 

"Yes,"  said  Salome  ;  "  it  all  rests  with  me." 

After  this  nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject. 
Indeed,  hardly  anything  was  said  on  any  subject. 
The  two  girls  landed  at  the  wharf  and  walked  up  to 
the  Ponce  de  Leon.  Salome  went  directly  to  Mrs. 
Darrah,  feeling  that  she  had  been  very  remiss.  But 
that  lady  was  not  disposed  towards  reproof  of  any 
kind.  She  had  been  dozing  among  her  cushions,  but 
she  thought  she  had  been  thinking  over  her  novel. 
This  thought  gave  her  a  sense  of  having  been  attend- 


QUESTIONING  289 

ing  to  duty,  and  consequently  made  her  good-natured. 
Besides,  she  never  saw  Salome  without  an  awakening 
of  keenest  interest  in  her  as  a  specimen  of  the  human 
race.  As  a  specimen,  Mrs.  Darrah  often  told  herself, 
Miss  Gerry  exceeded  anything  she  had  ever  had  occa 
sion  to  study.  The  elder  woman  was  always  thinking  of 
the  forgery,  and  trying  to  see  some  indications  in  the 
girl's  face  or  manner  that  she  had  done  such  a  thing. 

While  she  thus  furtively  watched  her,  the  authoress 
made  a  great  many  notes  in  that  book  devoted  to 
feminine  traits.  But  when  she  looked  over  those 
notes  she  found  them  particularly  inane  and  pointless. 
Once  she  dashed  her  pen  through  a  page  of  them, 
thinking,  as  she  did  so,  that  she  had  never  before 
found  words  so  inefficient. 

"  And  yet,"  she  said,  aloud,  "  there  is  the  girl  with 
that  baffling  face  that  yet  seems  as  clear  as  a  lake, 
and  here  am  I  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  study  her. 
I  wonder  what  Portia  thinks  of  her.  Portia  is  a  sharp 
kind  of  a  girl.  I  will  ask  her." 

And  she  did  ask  her  niece  that  very  night,  after 
Salome  had  gone  to  bed  in  the  room  provided  for  her 
near  Mrs.  Darrah. 

"  I  suppose  you  feel  acquainted  with  Miss  Gerry, 
don't  you  ?"  was  the  inquiry. 

"  Are  you  asking  that  question  for  the  sake  of  ma 
terial,  Aunt  Florence,'5  was  Miss  Nunally's  response, 
"  or  just  in  a  human  kind  of  way  ?'5 

Mrs.  Darrah  flushed  with  anger. 

"  We  will  call  it  a  human  kind  of  way,"  she  an 
swered.  "What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Gerry?" 

Mrs.  Darrah  thought  there  was  some  agitation  in 
her  niece's  manner.  The  girl  rose  and  walked  to 
the  desk;  she  began  lifting  some  leaves  of  inanu- 


290  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

script  which  Salome  had  written.  The  clear  hand 
writing  flashed  up  at  her  somehow  like  a  glance  from 
Salome  herself.  She  stepped  away  ;  but  still  her  eyes 
remained  on  that  writing,  and  it  influenced  her  some 
thing  as  the  presence  of  the  writer  influenced  her. 

"  I  could  be  very  fond  of  her,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  So  could  I,"  returned  Mrs.  Darrah,  quickly. 
"  But  that  isn't  of  any  consequence." 

"  Pardon  me,  Aunt  Florence,"  said  Portia,  with  her 
touch  of  insolence,  "  but  it  is  of  the  greatest  conse 
quence  to  me  whether  I  can  be  fond  of  any  one  or 
not.  For  instance,  think  of  the  difference  it  would 
make  if  I  could  be  fond  of  Major  Root.'' 

"  Pshaw  !  That  isn't  necessary.  You  will  be  fond 
of  the  diamonds  he  gives  you." 

"  Yes  ;  and  so,  perhaps,  I  shall  spare  his  life — for 
a  time." 

Portia  turned  again  and  walked  about  the  room. 
It  seemed  impossible  for  her  to  keep  quiet. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Gerry  ?"  persisted 
Mrs.  Darrah. 

Miss  Nunally  paused  with  her  hands  clasped  be 
hind  her.  She  did  not  smile  in  the  least  as  she  re 
plied  : 

"  Think  of  Miss  Gerry?  I  think  a  thousand  things  ; 
and  five  hundred  of  those  things  contradict  the  other 
five  hundred." 

Mrs.  Darrah  sat  upright,  as  she  did  when  particu 
larly  interested. 

"  That  is  exactly  as  it  is  with  me !"  she  cried. 
"  How  strange  !  But,  Portia,  I'm  sure  I  know  the 
secret  of  it  all." 

"  Do  you  ?  Then  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  ;  for  I 
don't  know  it,"  was  the  response. 


QUESTIONING  29 1 

"  It  is  this — do  hand  me  that  blue  note-book.  Are 
you  listening  ?" 

"  I  am  certainly  listening ;  don't  put  me  off  like 
one  of  your  continued  stories." 

Mrs.  Darrah  did  not  notice  this  remark.  She  held 
her  pencil  poised  over  her  book. 

"  Miss  Gerry  is  a  New  F,ngland  girl." 

Portia  nodded  impatiently. 

"  She  was  brought  up  by  a  typical  New  England 
woman." 

Another  impatient  nod. 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  with  great  impressiveness, 
"  Miss  Gerry  had  a  great-grandfather  who  was  any 
thing  but  a  New  England  man." 

Portia  began  walking  again. 

''That  is  very  convenient,"  she  said.  "When  I  do 
anything  evil  I  shall  ascribe  the  tendency  to  some 
grandparent ;  but  when  I  do  anything  good,  which 
rarely  happens  to  me,  I  will  say  the  deed  comes  from 
my  own  individual  self.  I  suppose  we  have  individual 
selves,  Aunt  Florence,  as  well  as  inherited  proclivi 
ties,  haven't  we  ?" 

';  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Darrah,  blankly. 

"  Then  write  a  book  about  it,"  said  Portia,  flippant 
ly  repeating  the  advice  she  liked  to  give  her  aunt. 
She  turned  towards  the  door.  She  paused  with  her 
face  averted.  There  was  a  decided  look  of  pain  on 
that  face,  but  her  tone  was  still  flippant  as  she  said : 

"  I  could  sometimes  wish  most  earnestly  that  I  had 
had  a  great-grandfather;  and  that  people  would  re 
member  him  when  they  judge  me.  Good-night,  Aunt 
Florence." 

Mrs.  Darrah  gazed  at  the  drapery  that  had  fallen 
over  the  door  by  which  her  niece  had  left  her. 


\ 

THE    TWO    SALOMES 


She  was  thinking  that  it  would  be  a  great  deal 
better  if  Portia  did  care  a  little  for  Major  Root,  since 
she  was  going  to  marry  him.  But  she  concluded  her 
thought  by  saying  to  herself  : 

"  It  is  her  own  choice,  however."  And  then  she 
added,  "  It  was  Miss  Gerry's  choice  to  forge." 

And  by  this  time  she  had  fully  decided  not  to  make 
any  entry  in  her  note-book.  When  the  mind  travels 
in  a  "vicious  circle"  the  mind  is  not  in  a  condition 
to  make  clear  notes  upon  a  topic. 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  this  conversation  was  ly 
ing  with  enforced  stillness  upon  her  bed. 

She  had  been  sure  that  she  could  not  sleep,  but  she 
knew  that  she  must  assume  the  position  for  sleep. 
She  held  herself  almost  rigid  until  the  noises  in 
the  hotel  had  gradually  subsided,  and  she  could  hear 
distinctly  the  swelling  of  the  tide  on  the  outside  of 
the  island  opposite  the  city. 

When  she  had  been  awake  in  the  cabin  where  she 
had  been  living,  she  had  always  listened  for  the 
sound  of  the  tide.  She  liked  to  hear  it.  In  the 
midst  of  her  happiness  it  had  made  her  still  hap 
pier.  Now  she  wondered  that,  in  her  wretchedness, 
this  roar  of  the  waves  should  make  her  still  more 
wretched. 

Her  thoughts  followed  her  mother  through  every 
mile  of  the  desolate  journey.  Her  thoughts  leaped 
constantly  to  the  end  of  that  journey;  to  the  dreary 
farm-house  where  her  father  was  lying  ill ;  or  perhaps 
he  was  lying  dead.  Dead !  That  word  came  to  her 
incesantly,  until  at  last  it  was  like  the  toll  of  a  bell  in 
her  ears.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  wait  and  live 
until  she  could  hear.  But  she  must  live. 

When  her  mother  had  left  her,  Salome  had  longed 


QUESTIONING  293 

for  the  presence  of  Moore  as  for  something  that 
should  partially  assuage  the  agony  she  felt  at  parting, 
and  at  parting  for  such  a  cause. 

She  had  never  been  separated  from  her  mother  a 
week  in  her  life.  Constant  familiarity  and  intercourse 
had  knit  their  love  into  something  stronger  even  than 
such  love  usually  is.  It  was  not  merely  a  parting ; 
Salome  felt  that  it  was  a  rending.  She  stretched  out 
her  arms  in  the  darkness. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it !"'  she  whispered. 

Oh,  happy  is  that  human  being  who  has  never  yet 
had  occasion  to  cry,  "  I  cannot  bear  it !" 

But  we  bear  things.  Somehow  we  bear  them ; 
though  that  endurance  leaves  us  forever  after  with  a 
mark  upon  us. 

So  Salome  lay  there.  She  thought  many  thoughts, 
but  she  seemed  to  herself  to  be  thinking  only  of  her 
father  and  mother.  She  remembered  how  her  moth 
er  had  told  her  to  be  truthful.  The  girl  prayed  fervidly 
that  it  might  be  given  to  her  to  speak  the  truth.  Un 
consciously  she  used  the  old  phraseology  that  she  had 
heard  in  the  pulpit  at  home  :  "'  that  it  might  be  given 
to  her."  She  believed  that  the  prayer  brought  her 
spirit  yet  nearer  her  mother. 

It  was  very  dark.  But  under  the  door  of  the  room 
leading  into  Mrs.  Darrah's  chamber  there  was  a  faint 
bar  of  light. 

Once  the  girl  heard  a  swift  dash  of  rain  on  the  lit 
tle  balcony  outside  of  her  window.  The  sound  made 
her  want  to  get  up  and  go  out  and  stand  in  that  bal 
cony  so  that  the  rain  might  fall  upon  her.  The  win 
dow  was  widely  open,  and  it  let  in  the  sweetness 
of  the  Florida  night.  Salome  heard  a  bird  nestle 
among  the  leaves  of  a  magnolia  that  now  and  then, 


294  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

in  the  breeze,  touched  the  sash.  She  heard  the  bird's 
indistinct  murmur,  as  if  it  were  dreaming  of  its  day 
light  song. 

Being  young  and  well,  Salome,  after  midnight,  fell 
asleep.  But  she  slept  lightly,  and  did  not  when  she 
wakened  think  she  had  slept  at  all. 

The  door  under  which  there  had  been  a  bar  of 
light  was  now  open,  and  a  soft  brilliance  filled  her 
room. 

Mrs.  Darrah  was  standing  in  her  wrapper  near  the 
girl's  bed. 

"  I  could  not  sleep,''  she  said,  gently,  "  and  I  was 
sure  you  were  awake  and  suffering." 

Salome  sat  up  quickly.  She  pushed  her  hair  back 
from  her  face.  She  could  not  help  holding  out  her 
hands,  which  were  instantly  taken. 

"  You  are  so  kind,"  murmured  Salome.  She  tried 
not  to  sob  ;  and  the  effort  seemed  to  hurt  her  more 
than  the  sob  itself  would  have  done. 

Looking  at  the  figure  sitting  there  in  its  white 
gown,  being  aware  of  the  struggle  Salome  was  making 
that  she  might  be  calm,  Mrs.  Darrah  for  the  next 
few  moments  entirely  forgot  that  she  was  an  author 
ess  with  an  inexhaustible  craving  for  "  material." 
She  was  only  a  woman  whose  kind  heart  was  deeply 
touched.  Still  it  could  not  be  expected  that  she 
should  become  unconscious  of  the  absorbing  curiosity 
which  this  girl  roused  in  her. 

"  You  are  worrying,  you  are  grieving,"  she  said. 

As  she  spoke  she  sat  down  on  the  bedside.  "  If 
we  could  only  attain  to  a  philosophy  whereby  our  in 
tensity  of  feeling  might  come  only  upon  joyous  occa 
sions."  She  spoke  as  if  to  herself.  Salome  did  not 
attempt  a  reply.  She  sat  there,  trembling  both  from 


QUESTIONING  295 

chilliness  and  from  excitement.  She  was  glad  Mrs. 
Darrah  had  come  in.  The  voice  and  the  touch  of  a 
sympathetic  human  being  were  much  to  her  just  now. 
She  wanted  to  speak,  to  give  words  to  the  dreadful 
anxiety  upon  her  ;  but  she  remained  silent.  It  did 
not  appear  to  her  that  she  had  any  right  to  afflict  this 
woman  who  was  so  kind  to  her. 

Finally,  however,  she  asked,  in  a  whisper  : 

"  Mrs.  Darrah,  do  you  think  1  can  bear  it?" 

"  Certainly  you  can.  When  you  are  older  you  will 
be  astonished  at  the  number  of  things  you  have  borne, 
and  that  you  can  still  be  happy." 

"  Is  that  true  ?"  piteously.  "  Dut  you  know  my 
mother  will  be  suffering,  and  f  not  near  to  comfort 
her.  I  can  always  comfort  my  mother." 

The  last  sentence  was  broken  by  a  heavy  sob. 
Salome  withdrew  her  hands  and  pressed  them  upon 
her  chest  as  she  used  to  do  when  her  breath  came 
painfully  from  another  cause. 

"  And  if  I  should  never  see  my  father  again  ! — " 

Here  the  agony  in  the  young  face  showed  so  plain 
ly,  even  in  that  light,  that  Mrs.  Darrah  said,  with 
some  sternness  : 

"  ft  is  wicked  of  you  to  yield  like  this.  You  will 
presently  be  wrought  almost  into  an  irresponsible 
state." 

Salome  made  a  great  effort.  She  even  smiled  as 
she  said  : 

"  Mother  says  we  are  always  responsible,  and  that 
we  can  bear  anything;  and  that  really  God  loves  us, 
only  it  doesn't  always  seem  as  if  He  did.  My  moth 
er  is  so  strong,  Mrs.  Darrah." 

Salome  turned  towards  her  pillow  and  put  her  head 
down  upon  it. 


296  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  went  on  in  a  moment, 
"  but  I  have  been  lying  awake,  and  I  '  got  all  worked 
up,'  as  they  say  at  home.  I  am  going  to  behave  bet 
ter  now." 

"  That's  right.  Let  me  give  you  something  to  quiet 
you.  You  can't  hear  from  home  for  two  days  at 
least ;  and  you  must  rest." 

But  Salome  would  have  no  sleeping  draught.  She 
had  something  of  her  mother's  horror  of  opiates.  She 
thanked  Mrs.  Darrow  fervently.  That  lady  bent  down 
and  kissed  the  girl's  cheek,  and  then  she  walked  out 
of  the  room. 

An  hour  later,  being  wakeful  and  uneasy,  she  soft 
ly  stepped  back  to  that  bed.  The  girl  lying  upon  it 
was  sleeping. 

The  next  day  Portia  came  for  Salome  to  go  driving 
with  her,  but  Mrs.  Darrah  announced  that  she  intend 
ed  to  dictate  a  great  deal. 

"  Work  is  the  best  thing  for  Miss  Gerry  now,"  she 
said. 

Salome  looked  gratefully  at  her  employer.  Miss 
Nunally  went  her  ways,  and  Salome  sat  at  the  desk 
hour  after  hour  while  Mrs.  Darrah  dictated  in  the 
most  copious  manner. 

The  amanuensis  was  not  in  a  condition  to  take  in 
the  meaning  of  the  words  she  wrote,  or  she  would 
have  known  there  was  very  little  meaning  in  them,  and 
she  would  have  suspected  that  her  companion  was 
only  spinning  sentences  to  keep  her  busy. 

At  last  Mrs.  Darrah  looked  at  her  watch.  She 
suddenly  remembered  that  her  niece  had  once  told 
her  that  Mr.  Moore  was  in  the  habit  of  walking  home 
with  Miss  Gerry  after  her  work. 

But  since  Miss  Gerry  did  not  now  go  out  beyond 


QUESTIONING  297 

the  Maria  Sanchez — at  this  point  in  her  thoughts 
Mrs.  Uarrah  asked  abruptly  : 

"  Do  you  expect  to  see  that  young  man  to-day  ?" 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Moore  ?" 

"Certainly.  There  is  no  other  young  man  in  the 
world,  is  there  ?"  smiling  slightly. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  waiting  for  me,"  was  the  reply. 
"  He  doesn't  know  that  my  mother  has  gone." 

"Does  not?"  in  surprise.  "Well,  go  to  the  post- 
office  for  me.  He  is  no  doubt  lurking  somewhere. 
Tell  him  to  call  here  after  this.  Now  go." 

But  Moore  was  not  lurking  anywhere  near. 

Salome  walked  swiftly  to  the  post  -  office.  She 
would  not  acknowledge  to  herself  how  her  heart  sank 
as  she  went  on.  And  she  would  not  look  either  to 
the  right  or  left. 

She  was  surprised  to  find  a  note  from  Moore,  telling 
her  that  business  had  called  him  to  Palatka  again; 
that  he  might  be  gone  a  few  days.  The  note  was 
rather  cold  ;  only  a  last  sentence  contained  a  passion 
ate  regret  that  he  must  go  without  seeing  her.  And 
he  knew  nothing  of  her  father's  illness. 

Salome  hurried  on  to  the  Plaza  and  sat  clown  upon 
one  of  the  benches,  holding  this  note  in  her  clasped 
hands.  Her  heart  was  so  heavy  that  she  could  hard 
ly  think.  She  was  duly  thankful  that  she  was,  in  a 
way,  stupefied.  She  did  not  want  to  think. 

She  did  not  know  when  she  should  see  Moore.  A 
few  days  he  might  be  gone.  A  few  days  sounded 
like  a  few  years.  And  she  needed  him  so.  That 
strong,  robust  cheerfulness  of  his  ;  that  protect 
ing  and  sustaining  tenderness  —  and  he  was  to  be 
gone  a  few  days.  Everything  might  happen  in  that 
time. 


298  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Yes,  she  was  truly  grateful  that  she  was  partially 
stupefied. 

She  saw  vaguely  the  people  passing  in  front  of  her. 
She  heard  vaguely  their  voices. 

She  began  to  make  an  accurate  calculation  of  the 

O 

number  of  hours  that  surely  must  pass  before  she 
could  receive  that  telegram  from  her  mother. 

Still  absorbed  in  this  calculation,  she  walked  back 
to  the  hotel  and  to  her  own  room. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  she  kept  up  this  study  all  the 
next  day  when  she  wrote  almost  incessantly  for  Mrs. 
Darrah. 

At  last  the  telegram  arrived.  Salome  was  sur 
prised  at  her  own  strength  when  it  was  put  in  her 
hand,  and  she  opened  the  envelope. 

"  Better  than  I  expected.     Will  write." 

Those  were  the  words  she  read.  She  turned  with 
a  little  cry  towards  Portia,  who  had  brought  the  mes 
sage,  and  who  was  standing  watchfully  near.  Salome 
thrust  the  paper  towards  Miss  Nunally,  and  then  ran 
to  her  ow-n  room. 

When  at  last  she  came  back  her  face  had  such  an 
expression  of  thankfulness  and  hope  that  Portia 
could  not  bear  it,  and  walked  away. 

"  Why  should  we  all  suffer  with  that  girl  in  this 
way,  and  rejoice  too  ?"  impatiently  asked  Miss  Nu 
nally  of  herself.  "  There  is  no  reason  in  it.  And 
she  no  better  than  she  should  be.  No  ;  there  is  no 
reason  in  it." 

Mrs.  Gerry's  promised  letter  came  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment.  It  was  concise.  It  said  that  Mr. 
Gerry  did  not  seem  dangerously  ill,  and  that  Salome 
need  not  worry.  It  bade  the  girl  find  a  cheap  but 
comfortable  lodging,  for  they  could  not  accept  so  much 


QUESTIONING  299 

from  Mrs.  Darrah.  Mr.  Gerry  might  need  his  wife's 
care  for  some  weeks,  and  it  would  not  do  for  Salome 
to  remain  at  the  Ponce  de  Leon.  Still,  Mrs.  Gerry 
might  be  able  to  return  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  It  was 
too  soon  yet  for  her  to  be  able  to  judge.  She  was 
glad  that  she  had  not  allowed  her  daughter  to  come 
home  with  her.  It  was  very  cold  ;  it  was  sleighing. 
There  was  so  much  snow  that  the  roads  had  been 
'•  broken  out.'! 

Salome  shivered  as  she  read  ;  but  she  laughed  also. 
She  was  sure  now  that  her  father  would  soon  be  bet 
ter,  and  her  mother  would  come  back  to  her,  perhaps 
in  two  weeks.  Even  when  Mrs.  Darrah  tried  to  re 
mind  her  that  often  typhoid  fever  was  of  long  dura 
tion,  Salome  could  not  be  depressed.  She  said  she 
felt  almost  certain  that  her  mother  would  be  with  her 
in  two  weeks  ;  and  when  she  had  this  feeling  about 
anything  it  was  nearly  sure  to  come  to  pass. 

In  two  days  Salome  had  another  letter  ;  this  time 
it  was  only  a  note.  It  prayed  the  child  to  take  care 
of  herself,  and  it  commanded  her  not  to  worry. 

Salome  read  this  in  her  room  at  the  back  of  a  house 
on  Bravo  Street ,  for  she  had  lost  no  time  in  leaving 
the  I'once  de  Leon,  as  her  mother  had  directed. 

This  room  was  small,  and  the  one  window  looked 
on  nothing  in  particular.  But  nothing  mattered  so 
long  as  her  mother  was  away. 

The  girl  read  this  note  so  many  times  that  the 
words  lost  all  meaning. ,  But  they  had  left  a  deep  gloom 
upon  her.  She  did  not  know  why  they  had  done  so. 

She  put  on  her  hat  and  hurried  out-of-doors. 
When  she  was  in  trouble  or  when  she  was  in  joy,  Sa 
lome  wanted  to  be  under  the  sky.  She  could  not 
bear  a  roof  above  her. 


300 


THE    TWO    SALOMES 


She  walked  quickly  among  the  little  highways  until 
Artillery  Street  had  led  her  to  George  Street.  Then, 
without  any  intention,  she  sped  along  in  the  direction 
of  the  railway  station. 

Moore  had  not  returned.  He  had  written  every 
day,  however,  and  she  had  replied  briefly.  But  she 
had  told  him  nothing  of  her  loneliness  or  anxiety.  It 
seemed  to  her  it  would  be  like  pleading  for  her  to 
do  so. 

As  she  walked,  the  thought  of  her  lover  came  to  her 
with  a  sudden  sharpness  of  longing.  She  heard  the 
train  from  Jacksonville  coming  in.  She  was  now 
within  a  few  rods  of  the  station.  What  if  he  were 
upon  that  train  ? 

She  hesitated  an  instant.  Then  she  hastened  for 
ward.  She  was  on  the  platform  as  the  train  slowed 
up.  She  stood  back  a  little  now,  fully  expecting  to 
see  Moore  alight.  She  was  already  aware  of  the  ex 
pression  that  would  come  to  his  face  when  he  saw  her. 
Yet  she  shrank  a  little,  asking  herself  if  she  were 
bold.  Would  he  think  she  was  bold  ? 

He  had  written  that  he  might  come  at  any  time 
now. 

It  was  not  Moore  whom  Salome  saw  stepping  from 
the  car  nearest  her.  It  was  Walter  Redd  who  put 
foot  on  the  platform.  He  held  a  satchel,  which  the 
girl,  with  a  thrill,  recognized  as  her  mother's  satchel. 
She  saw  him  turn  and  help  a  woman  behind  him. 
Then  she  saw  that  the  woman^was  her  mother,  pale, 
worn,  exhausted. 

In  an  instant  the  girl  had  glided  among  the  people. 
She  reached  her  mother  and  took  her  arm,  pressing  it 
to  her  side. 


XVII 

TIRED 

FOR  the  first  moment  Mrs.  Gerry  seemed  unable  to 
look  at  her  daughter  or  to  speak. 

Instead,  she  turned  towards  Walter  Redd  and  asked, 
in  a  high,  hard  voice  : 

"  Haven't  you  the  check  for  the  trunk,  Walter  ?'' 

The  young  man  nodded.  He  walked  away  imme 
diately.  He  had  made  no  attempt  towards  any  kind 
of  a  greeting  to  Salome. 

The  two  women  stood  on  the  platform,  the  girl  still 
having  her  mother's  arm.  People  hustled  by  them. 
Two  or  three  glanced  at  them  with  keen,  sympathetic 
eyes.  At  last  Salome  whispered  : 

"  Mother  !" 

Mrs.  Gerry's  tense  figure  became  more  rigid. 

Her  daughter  clung  more  closely  to  her. 

After  another  silence,  the  girl  said  : 

"  Let  us  go  to  my  room." 

The  two  walked  quickly  away.  But  they  had  not 
gone  far  when  Mrs.  Gerry  stopped.  She  must  still 
have  the  care  of  things. 

"  Where  is  your  room  ?  We  must  tell  Walter.  He 
will  want  to  see  us  after  a  while,  and  the  trunk  must 
be  sent,  too.  I  will  tell  him.  Is  it  Bravo  Street  ? 
And  the  number  ?'' 

Salome  thought  her  mother  looked  ready  to  fall  to 


302  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

the  ground.  Only  the  girl  knew  that  she  would  not 
fail ;  that  she  would  never  fall  while  she  lived. 

"I  will  tell  him,"  Salome  said. 

She  ran  back  to  where  Redd  stood  at  the  end  of  the 
station.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  His  swarthy 
face  flushed  as  he  took  the  hand. 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  where  we  are,  and  where  you 
may  send  the  trunk,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  She  hesi 
tated.  Then  she  added,  tremulously  :  "  I  know  you 
have  been  so  kind." 

"No,  no  !''  he  returned,  with  some  roughness. 

She  hastened  back  to  the  figure  which  stood  pa 
tiently  awaiting  her. 

When  the  two  women  were  in  the  chamber  on  Bravo 
Street,  Salome  turned  the  key  in  the  door  as  if  it  were 
necessary  to  do  so  to  keep  out  intruders. 

She  led  her  mother  to  a  chair.  She  took  off  the 
dusty  black  bonnet  and  black  mantle.  But  she  could 
not  keep  her  hands  from  trembling  as  she  did  so. 
Mrs.  Gerry  did  not  tremble.  She  watched  her  daugh 
ter  intently. 

Salome  knelt  down  on  the  floor  and  put  her  arms 
about  her  mothers's  waist. 

"  Mother  !"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Gerry  looked  down  at  the  young  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it  is  true.     Lyman  is  dead  !'' 

She  did  not  say  "  your  father."  She  was  thinking 
of  the  man  who  had  been  her  lover  and  her  husband. 
At  that  moment  she  was  not  so  much  a  mother  as  a 
widow. 

Salome  shuddered.  She  had  known  as  soon  as  she 
saw  her  mother  on  the  steps  of  the  car.  But  to  hear 
those  words,  "  He  is  dead  !"  That  is  driving  the  knife 
into  the  wound.  And  this,  too,  must  be  borne. 


TIRED  303 

The  girl  did  not  speak.  She  pressed  her  arms  yet 
closer  about  the  form  they  held.  In  that  first  instant 
she  wondered  why  people  sobbed  and  wept  when  they 
knew  of  the  death  of  one  beloved. 

Then  in  another  moment  she  had  fallen  to  weeping 
in  the  most  violent  manner,  clinging  to  her  mother  all 
the  time,  and  asking,  convulsively : 

"  Shall  I  never  see  him  again  ?  Shall  I  never  see 
him  again  ?'' 

At  first  Mrs.  Gerry  said  nothing.  But  soon  she  re 
peated  the  word  "  Hush  !  hush  !''  in  the  tone  she  had 
used  when  her  daughter  was  a  child. 

She  bent  over  the  slender  form  and  enfolded  it 
strongly.  After  a  little  the  girl  sobbed  less  tumult- 
uously,  and  still  later  she  raised  her  head  and  looked 
into  her  mother's  face.  She  gently  put  the  palm  of 
her  hand  against  one  thin  white  cheek  of  the  elder 
face. 

''Oh,"  she  said,  " how  weak  I  am!  And  to  think 
what  you  must  have  borne  !" 

Mrs.  Gerry  pressed  her  lips  together.  There  were 
no  tears  in  her  eyes.  The  sweet  strength  of  those 
eyes  shone  full  upon  her  daughter. 

"And  I  told  Mrs.  Darrah,"  began  Salome  —  here 
she  stopped  as  if  she  could  not  speak  again ;  but 
presently  she  went  on — "  and  I  told  Mrs.  Darrah  that 
I  could  always  comfort  my  mother.  Oh,  if  I  could 
only  comfort  you  !" 

Mrs.  Gerry's  controlled  countenance  suddenly  be 
came  suffused  with  red.  Her  mouth  yielded  ;  her 
eyes  overflowed.  In  a  voice  that  was  strangely  like 
her  daughter's  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  you  do  comfort  me  !  You  do  comfort  me  ! 
It  is  our  little  girl,  Lyman  !  Our  little  girl  !" 


304  THE    TWO    SALOMES       • 

Her  head  dropped  to  Salome's  shoulder.  For  the 
first  time  since  she  had  started  North  she  gave  way 
to  the  suffering  in  her  heart. 

And  as  the  young  arms  held  her,  as  the  young  voice 
murmured  brokenly  to  her,  she  was  comforted  greatly. 

Later  the  two  sat  close  together  talking  in  half 
tones,  with  long  pauses,  until  the  sad  story  was  told. 

Mrs.  Gerry  did  not  dwell  upon  its  details.  She 
could  not  do  that  now. 

Mr.  Gerry  had  made  his  will.  His  debts  would  al 
most,  if  not  quite,  cover  his  property,  but  his  widow 
did  not  speak  of  that.  She  knew  that  her  husband  had 
left  all  to  her,  so  that  she  might  settle  affairs  with  no 
hinderance.  He  had  advised  her  to  sell  everything, 
and  then  she  would  "know  where  she  stood."  That 
was  her  judgment  also.  Lyman  had  never  known  ex 
actly  where  he  stood. 

Holding  his  wife's  hand,  in  those  few  moments 
when  he  could  talk,  he  had  confessed  that  he  wasn't 
one  of  the  kind  that  could  get  property  together.  He 
wasn't  thrifty.  He  didn't  know  why.  He  said  he  had 
never  cared  as  he  cared  now.  He  wished  he  could 
leave  his  wife  and  child  "  well  off."  And  he  had  al 
ways  worked  hard,  too.  He  didn't  understand  it. 

And  his  wife  had  upheld  and  sustained  him  in  his 
dying,  as  she  had  done  so  many  years  in  his  living. 
He  had  sent  his  love  to  his  little  girl.  Still  holding 
that  helping  hand,  still  leaning  upon  it,  he  had  gone 
into  the  other  world. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  kind  Walter  Redd  has  been 
all  the  time,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  now  speaking  in  her 
usual  calm  way.  "  I  can't  think  what  I  should  have 
done  without  him.  He  is  one  to  lean  upon.  And  I 
am  to  leave  the  selling  of  the  farm  and  the  wood-lots 


TIRED  305 

to  him.  He  will  attend  to  everything.  And  in  the 
best  way,  too.  He  is  shrewd  and  honest,  and  he  in 
sisted  upon  coming  South  with  me  now.  I  could  have 
come  alone  very  well.  But  he  was  a  great  help.  He 
would  have  a  sleeping-car,  too.  And  I  slept  each 
night.  It  seems  strange,  but  I  slept." 

"  Is  he  going  to  stay  long  ?"  Salome  put  the  ques 
tion  with  but  little  interest.  Yet  she  listened  for  the 
reply. 

"  A  few  weeks.  He  said  he  meant  to  come  down 
this  winter  anyway.  He  says  if  he  gets  back  in  time 
for  the  spring  work  it  will  be  all  right.  He  wfants  to 
look  round.  Yes,  he  was  a  great  help.  Be  as  kind 
as  you  can  to  him,  Salome.  He  is  a  good  friend." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am  sure  of  that,"  was  the  response. 
"Does  he"  —hesitatingly — "does  he  know  about 
Mr.  Moore  ?" 

"  I  told  him  on  the  journey.  He  isn't  a  man  to  ap 
pear  sentimental,  you  know.  You  need  not  fear  that 
from  him." 

Mrs.  Gerry's  words  seemed  strictly  true.  When 
Walter  Redd  called  a  few  moments  in  the  evening,  he 
was  so  solidly  cordial  and  matter-of-fact  in  his  ap 
pearance  that  his  presence  produced  a  decidedly  com 
fortable  effect  upon  the  two  women.  It  was  like  an 
assurance  that  the  foundations  of  the  earth  still  re 
mained. 

And  he  did  not  stay  until  they  were  tired  of  him. 
When  he  had  gone,  Mrs.  Gerry  repeated  earnestly 
what  she  had  said  before  : 

"Walter  Redd  has  been  such  a  help." 

As  Salome  heard  her  she  was  conscious  of  a  de 
cided  feeling  of  rebellion  that  it  was  Walter  instead  of 
Moore  who  had  been  such  a  help.  Then  she  reproved 


306  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

herself  for  such  an  emotion.  But  she  did  not  quite 
subdue  it. 

When  the  two  were  left  alone,  Mrs.  Gerry  turned 
suddenly  to  her  daughter.  She  looked  at  her  more 
closely  than  she  had  yet  done.  Then  she  said  : 

"  After  all,  it  is  only  a  very  little  while  I  have  been 
gone.  But  some  way  you  look  as  if  it  were  a  long 
time." 

"  Yes,  yes.  Mother,  you  forget  how  I  have  suffered 
thinking  of  you  and — and  father  !" 

"  Yes,  you  must  have  suffered,"  kissing  Salome's 
cheek  repeatedly.  "  And  you  have  not  slept  ?" 

"No,  I  have  not  slept." 

Mrs.  Gerry  waited  a  little  before  she  asked  : 

"  Have  you  anything  to  tell  me  ?" 

"  To  tell  you  ?"  in  surprise.  "  No  ;  what  should  I 
have  to  tell  ?  Mrs.  Darrah  has  been  so  kind ;  and 
she  has  kept  me  at  work  closely.  I  was  so  glad  of 
that." 

"  And  how  is  Mr.  Moore  ?" 

"  I  have  missed  him  so  much,"  replied  Salome, 
quickly.  "  Just  as  I  needed  him — you  see,  mother,  I 
really  did  need  him  in  my  trouble  —  he  had  to  go 
down  to  Palatka  and  along  the  river  there.  And  he 
doesn't  even  know  you  went  North." 

"  Oh,  he  doesn't  know  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  wouldn't  tell  him,"  went  on  the  girl, 
somewhat  eagerly,  "for  I  knew  he  would  want  to 
leave  everything  and  come  back.  It  seemed  weak  to 
tell  him.  And  I  am  trying  to  be  strong." 

Salome's  voice  nearly  failed  her  as  she  made  this 
announcement.  She  looked  at  her  mother  for  ap 
proval. 

"  That's  right,"  responded  Mrs.  Gerry.     "  It  never 


TIRED  307 

hurts  us  to  try  to  be  strong.  But  I  am  sorry  Mr. 
Moore  happened  to  be  gone.  I  was  thinking  all  the 
time  I  was  away  from  you  that  he  would  help  you." 

Salome  hung  about  her  mother. 

"  You  like  him,  don't  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Like  him  ?"  Mrs.  Gerry  smiled  sadly,  and  yet 
with  a  kind  of  cheerfulness.  "  More  than  that ;  I  love 
him.  How  could  I  help  it  ?" 

Salome  flung  herself  at  her  companion,  grasping 
her  impulsively. 

"Oh,  how  lovely  that  is  of  you!"  she  cried,  her 
eyes  shining  through  tears ;  "  but  of  course  you 
couldn't  help  it,  since  he  is  what  he  is.  But  what 
shall  I  do  if  I  go  on  loving  him  more  and  more  ? 
Tell  me,  mother;  that  is  what  frightens  me — -to  love 
him  so  much.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  great 
deal  safer  and  more  reasonable  to  have  a  moderate 
sort  of  an  affection  ?'' 

"  First,  then,"  replied  Mrs.  Gerry,  "  make  yourself 
over  into  a  safe  and  moderate  kind  of  a  girl." 

"  But  how  can  I  ?" 

"Perhaps  it  can  be  done.  A  good  many  things 
can  be  done.  There  was  a  man  who  was  able  to 
stand  on  a  pillar  for  a  good  many  years." 

"  I  remember  him.      But  what  did  it  amount  to  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  gazed  at  her  child  with  an  inscrutable 
smile.  She  was  thinking  that  if  Salome  could  see 
her  own  face  she  would  never  ask  such  questions 
concerning  herself. 

"  It  amounted  to  proving  that  a  man  may  stand  on 
a  pillar  day  after  day  and  week  after  week  and  year 
after  year." 

Salome  felt  that  she  did  not  quite  understand. 
But  she  dropped  the  subject. 


308  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

That  night  the  girl  really  slept  for  the  first  time 
since  her  mother  had  left  her.  She  had  no  cause  to 
worry  now.  She  knew  the  certainty. 

When  she  woke,  her  mother  was  not  beside  her. 
She  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  The  sunshine 
was  streaming  into  the  back  yards  of  the  houses  op 
posite.  By  craning  her  neck  a  great  deal  she  could 
almost  see  that  famous  leaning  date-palm  which 
grows  near  one  of  the  oldest  houses.  AYherever  she 
was,  Salome  always  wished  that  she  could  see  that 
tree.  She  felt  that  the  sight  of  a  date-palm  assured 
her  beyond  a  doubt  that  she  was  far  away  from  any 
place  where  snow  could  come.  In  New  England 
there  were  no  palms  standing  against  blue  skies. 

As  she  stood  there  she  began  to  cry,  softly  and 
copiously,  as  the  young  do  often  weep  when  they  feel 
grief,  but  when  happiness  stands  side  by  side  with 
grief. 

Her  mother  opened  the  door. 

"I  wouldn't  wake  you,"  she  said,  "but  it  is  nine 
o'clock,  and  you  should  be  at  Mrs.  Darrah's.  While 
you  are  there  I  will  go  out  to  our  hut  on  the  truck 
farm." 

When  the  girl  was  ready  the  two  walked  towards 
the  Ponce  de  Leon.  They  met  Walter  Redd,  who 
had  taken  a  room  near.  But  he  did  not  try  to  detain 
them.  He  looked  heavy  and  sombre  to  the  girl,  who 
was  thinking  of  a  face  quite  different.  And  suddenly 
that  face  appeared. 

Hurrying  around  a  corner,  eager,  his  eyes  instantly 
finding  the  two  women,  stepping  with  easy,  alert 
strength,  aglow  with  happiness,  Moore  hastened  to 
them. 

He   was   just  from   the    station.     He   had    heard 


TIRED  309 

nothing.  He  was  ready  to  reproach  Salome  for  what 
he  inwardly  called  her  "  stingy  notes." 

But  while  he  grasped  Mrs.  Gerry's  hand  his  face 
changed.  A  warm  sympathy  and  solicitude  took  the 
place  of  every  other  expression.  Another  person 
might  have  felt  sympathy  as  keenly,  but  another  per 
son  might  not  have  been  able  to  show  it  with  such 
winning  sincerity.  He  shook  hands  with  Salome ; 
but  he  turned  again  immediately  to  her  mother. 

'•  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  in  that  tone  which  is  hard 
ly  above  a  whisper,  and  which  sometimes  expresses  so 
much.  "  Something  has  happened  to  you.  Salome, 
haven't  I  a  right  to  know  when  you  are  troubled  ?" 

But  the  girl  could  not  speak.  It  was  the  mother 
who  must  find  strength  for  a  reply.  In  half  a  dozen 
words  she  made  answer. 

Moore  was  gazing  fixedly  at  Mrs.  Gerry  as  she 
spoke.  He  seemed  to  divine  directly  how  much 
deeper  was  her  wound  than  any  that  had  come  to  her 
daughter. 

With  an  involuntary  movement,  of  which  he  was 
quite  unconscious,  he  took  the  woman's  hand  and 
drew  it  closely  within  his  arm,  walking  on  with  her 
silently,  not  looking  at  any  one. 

When  the  three  had  reached  the  hotel  he  asked  if 
he  might  wait  for  them.  He  said  he  was  sure  Mrs. 
Darrah  would  not  dictate  this  morning.  Would  they 
let  him  stay  with  them  that  morning?  Would  they 
please  not  send  him  away? 

Mrs.  Gerry  smiled  as  she  nodded  yes  to  his  re 
quests.  Again  she  wondered  why  it  should  be  so 
easy  to  smile  at  this  young  man.  The  smile  helped 
her.  The  very  sight  of  him  helped  her.  There  was 
a  glow  in  her  heavy  heart  as  she  walked  up  the  stairs 


310  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

by  her  daughter's  side.  She  was  feeling  so  exqui 
sitely  thankful  that  Salome's  future  promised  so  well. 
Nothing  mattered  to  herself  now.  She  had  lived  her 
life.  But  for  the  child — for  her  everything  lovely 
might  happen.  The  elder  woman  told  herself  that 
she  must  henceforth  look  at  the  world  and  at  life 
through  her  daughter's  eyes.  Indeed,  there  was  no 
other  way.  To  her  now  life  and  the  world  meant 
merely  what  happened  to  Salome.  She  continued  to 
think  of  Moore  as  she  entered  the  hotel  and  left  him. 
She  had  no  doubt  about  the  essential  sweetness  and 
honesty  of  his  nature  ;  and  she  was  not  one  who 
judged  by  externals.  She  had  not  seen  the  young  man 
very  much,  but  she  had  watched  his  face  and  listened 
to  his  tones  with  that  keenness  which  belongs  to  some 
women  when  they  know  a  chlid's  happiness  depends 
upon  a  certain  face  and  voice.  A  hundred  times  she 
had  thanked  God  that  Moore  was  what  he  was.  She 
was  sure  his  faults  were  not  vital  faults,  nor  ruinous 
faults.  It  was  better  than  as  if  Salome  had  loved 
Redd.  Redd  would  have  been  faithful ;  he  would 
have  taken  good  care  of  the  child,  but  he  would  never 
have  understood  her. 

As  she  reached  this  point  in  her  thoughts,  Mrs. 
Gerry  felt  a  quick  start  as  of  alarm. 

Understood  the  child  !  Who  could  understand  her? 
"  The  elements  were  so  mixed "  in  her  that  she 
seemed  sometimes  a  human  puzzle,  impossible  to 
solve.  But  why  solve  everything?  Mrs.  Gerry's 
mind  ran  on  with  that  lightning  rapidity  which  is  oc 
casionally  one  of  the  clearest  processes  of  which  the 
mind  is  capable.  And  all  this  as  she  was  walking  by 
the  girl's  side  along  the  space  that  separated  the  en 
trance  from  Mrs.  Darrah's  room. 


TIRED  311 

This  morning  Mrs.  Darrah  was  entirely  merged  in 
the  authoress  ;  and  the  authoress  had  been  reading 
over  her  last  chapter  before  she  had  left  her  bed.  It 
was  not  the  chapter  she  had  just  dictated  ;  she  knew 
that  was  nothing  ;  but  the  one  previous  ;  and,  until 
this  morning,  she  had  not  known  that  this  also  was 
nothing. 

When,  in  the  ardor  of  inspiration,  an  authoress  be 
lieves  she  is  quite  firing  the  world,  and  when  she 
finds  later  that  what  she  thought  were  burning  words 
are  only  the  deadest  kind  of  cinders,  then  that  author 
ess  is  not  in  a  good-humor.  Do  not  go  into  her  den 
at  such  a  time. 

Mrs.  Gerry,  however,  knew  nothing  of  some  things 
that  were  liable  to  happen  to  authoresses.  So  she 
entered  with  that  reserved  self-possession  that  was 
characteristic  of  her. 

Salome  took  off  her  hat  as  if  she  were  going  to 
stay  to  write  ;  then  feeling  the  atmosphere,  she  held 
her  hat  uncertainly,  waiting. 

Mrs.  Darrah  nodded  at  the  two.  She  forgot  for 
the  moment  for  what  purpose  Mrs.  Gerry  had  been 
North,  or  that  she  had  been  North  at  all. 

'•  I  wish  you  would  both  sit  down,"  she  said, 
brusquely.  "  I  want  to  read  you  something.  I've 
been  reading  it  to  myself ;  now  I  want  to  try  it  on 
somebody  else.  I  want  somebody  else  to  writhe  and 
twist  under  it.  Now  listen  to  this." 

The  two  had  seated  themselves.  Mrs.  Darrah  put 
on  her  eye-glasses.  She  glanced  over  them  at  Sa 
lome  as  she  said  : 

"  Listen,  will  you  ?  This  stuff  doesn't  belong  in  a 
novel  of  sentiment  at  all.  It  belongs  somewhere  else. 
I  shall  have  to  start  another  novel  just  to  get  this  in." 


312  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

There  was  no  answer  to  this  remark.  Mrs.  Darrah 
smiled  in  a  whimsical  way  as  she  began  reading. 

After  a  few  paragraphs  she  looked  at  Salome 
again. 

"  Did  I  really  dictate  that  to  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"You  must  have  done  so,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Pshaw  !  Why  don't  you  say  it  is  your  own,  that 
I  never  could  have  composed  such  trash  ?" 

Salome  hesitated.  In  her  own  mind  she  knew  that 
she  would  have  been  willing  to  say  that  if  she  had 
only  thought  of  it.  But  her  mother  would  not  ap 
prove.  What  was  the  harm  in  speaking  things  which 
made  life  a  little  smoother,  or  which  opened  a  way  in 
an  easier  manner  ? 

But  she  immediately  dropped  these  questionings  in 
her  impatience  at  this  interview.  If  she  were  not  to 
work  she  could  hardly  force  herself  to  stay  in  the 
room.  Was  not  Moore  waiting  for  her  ?  In  spite  of 
her  resolve  not  to  betray  any  feeling,  she  could  not 
restrain  a  movement  which  made  her  mother  look 
at  her  in  reproof.  Her  mother  had  always  at  her 
command  a  calm,  if  somewhat  cold,  politeness.  Her 
mother  sat  there  now  as  quietly  as  if  she  never  had 
an  emotion — as  if  she  were  able  to  listen  indefinitely 
to  the  reading  of  that  stuff  which  did  not  belong  in 
a  novel  of  sentiment. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  suddenly  asked  Mrs. 
Darrah,  looking  up  sharply.  She  caught  Salome's 
look  of  weariness  and  dislike.  Now  an  author — that 
is,  a  woman  author,  for  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  men 
authors  are  different — does  not  relish  the  perception 
that  she  is  boring  some  one  with  reading  her  own 
composition,  even  though  she  has  first  announced  that 
the  composition  is  trash.  Of  course  she  has  a  right 


TIRED  313 

to  call  it  trash.  But  she  does  not  expect  to  be  be 
lieved.  She  knows  very  well  that  it  is  better  than  any 
one  else  would  be  likely  to  write. 

"  But  I  see  what  you  think  of  it !"  she  exclaimed,  in 
a  voice  of  such  annoyance  that  Salome,  in  the  utmost 
confusion,  tried  to  answer  and  could  not. 

Mrs.  Darrah  had  not  slept  well  the  night  before. 
Portia,  who  had  been  summoned  at  an  earlier  hour, 
had,  after  a  five  minutes'  tarry,  utterly  refused  to  re 
main.  She  told  her  aunt  that  she  knew  that  she  had 
given  her  a  great  many  gowns,  and  that  board  at  the 
Ponce  was  rather  high ;  still  she  was  not  going  to  stay 
in  the  room  just  for  her  aunt  to  fling  knives  at  her. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  are  out  of  temper,"  said  Miss 
Nunally,  with  that  peculiar  curl  of  the  upper  lip,  "  but 
this  is  one  of  the  times  '  when  the  world  is  not  equal 
to  the  demands  of  your  fine  organism.'  " 

"  Don't  quote  George  Eliot  to  me  !"  returned  Mrs. 
Darrah,  furiously. 

And  here  Portia  had  walked  out  of  the  room  with 
her  head  in  the  air 

But  the  Gerrys  could  not  walk  out  of  the  room  in 
that  way.  They  must  remain,  and  Salome  felt  that 
she  was  extremely  guilty.  She  might,  at  least,  have 
pretended  an  interest.  She  began  to  stammer  some 
thing,  she  hardly  knew  what. 

"  Don't  try  to  explain,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  frigidly, 
"  and  don't  pretend  that  you  were  interested.  I 
shouldn't  believe  you.  You  know  very  well  why  I 
might  take  the  liberty  sometimes  of  doubting  you.  I 
wish  you  would  press  that  bell.  My  coffee  was  only 
hot  water  this  morning.  I  need  toning  up  —  in 
short—" 

Mere,  as  Salome  walked  across  the  room  to  touch 


314  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

the  button  of  the  bell,  Mrs.  Darrah  seemed  to  see 
Mrs.  Gerry  for  the  first  time,  and  to  rouse  to  a  con 
sciousness  of  something  besides  her  manuscript  and 
her  ill-humor. 

"  Oh,  dear  !"  she  said,  still  crossly,  "  I  didn't  notice 
you;  I'm  sure  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Gerry."  And 
then  the  kind  impulses  of  her  heart  began  to  come 
uppermost.  She  rose  and  went  to  Mrs.  Gerry.  She 
held  out  her  hand.  "  Do  forgive  me,"  she  said  again. 
"  I  had  forgotten  ;  I  am  inexcusable.  You  have  come 
back — and  the  worst  has  happened.  Oh,  what  a  brute 
you  must  think  me  !" 

Mrs.  Gerry  made  some  concise  response.  She  was 
thinking  of  nothing  save  the  few  words  this  woman 
had  just  dropped  in  her  irritation — words  addressed  to 
Salome  :  "  You  know  very  well  why  I  might  take  the 
liberty  sometimes  of  doubting  you.''  Had  Salome  been 
saying  something  which  was  not  strictly,  accurately 
true  ?  Was  Salome  forming  that  habit  ?  But  the  girl 
had  said  "  yes';  when  her  mother  had  strenuously  in 
sisted  on  the  simple  truth  always.  She  had  said  "  yes,'' 
but  perhaps  all  the  time  she  had  not  meant  yes. 

Mrs.  Gerry  felt  like  reaching  out  her  hands  in  the 
darkness.  She  must  clutch  at  something.  But  she 
simply  stood  there  and  gazed  at  her  hostess,  saying 
nothing  after  she  had  signified  her  acceptance  of  the 
apology.  Still  it  did  seem  to  her  as  if  she  could  not 
remain  in  the  room.  She  really  cared  nothing  for  Mrs. 
Darrah's  ill-temper ;  she  did  not  think  of  it.  Plainly 
that  lady  had  discovered  that  Salome  was  not  truthful. 
Salome  was  not  truthful ! 

A  film  came  over  the  mother's  eyes.  She  could 
for  the  moment  see  nothing.  But  she  still  stood  there 
with  her  face  turned  towards  Mrs.  Darrah. 


TIRED  315 

The  latter  said  gently  that  she  would  not  keep 
Miss  Gerry ;  that  she  should  not  work  this  morning. 

Then  the  two  left  the  room.  For  once  the  girl 
was  so  absorbed  that  she  did  not  notice  her  mother's 
face  or  manner;  and,  indeed,  there  was  little  to  no 
tice.  Mrs.  Gerry  was  only  very  calm  and  quiet  as 
they  went  down  the  steps. 

Moore  came  quickly  forward  and  joined  them. 
But  there  was  a  noticeable  shrinking  on  the  part  of 
the  elder  woman.  She  summoned  her  voice,  and  said, 
bravely  : 

"  Go  on  to  the  truck  farm,  you  two  young  people. 
It  is  better  for  Salome  there;  she  can  be  out-of- 
doors  more.  I  will  go  back  to  Bravo  Street  and  give 
up  that  room." 

The  two  intense  young  faces  turned  simultaneously 
towards  Mrs.  Gerry  in  a  gratitude  that  was  unmistak 
able.  But  the  girl  made  an  attempt  to  remonstrate  ; 
she  tried  to  say  that  she  also  would  go  to  Bravo  Street ; 
that  they  would  all  go  out  to  the  truck  farm  together. 

But  her  mother  only  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 
She  hurried  them  away.  She  stood  in  front  of  the 
hotel  and  saw  them  walk  off.  She  noted  that  they 
were  looking  persistently  ahead  with  an  air  meant  to 
indicate  that  they  were  never  going  to  glance  at  eacli 
other 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  Mrs.  Gerry  went  de 
liberately  and,  as  she  would  have  said,  '•  did  her 
errands.'"'  She  paid  for  the  room  her  daughter  had 
occupied  for  a  few  days.  She  ordered  her  trunk  sent 
out  to  the  farm.  She  left  word  for  Walter  Redd  to 
be  directed  to  that  farm. 

Having  done  this,  she  stood  for  many  minutes 
opposite  the  barracks,  with  her  face  turned  towards 


316  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

the  sea.  She  had  started  to  walk  out  to  the  log- 
cabin,  where  she  now  expected  to  live  for  an  in 
definite  time.  She  had  been  planning  how  to  make 
the  cabin  more  comfortable.  She  and  Salome  would 
live  there  now  until  the  girl  should  marry,  probably. 
They  need  not  think  of  going  North.  Taste  and  life 
long  prejudices  made  Mrs.  Gerry  contemplate  life  in 
the  South  as  a  kind  of  martyrdom — certainly  the  life 
that  poverty  obliged  her  to  live  here.  But  she  could 
live  it ;  it  mattered  very  little.  The  only  way  to  en 
dure  things  was  the  way  into  which  she  had  been 
born  and  to  which  she  had  always  schooled  herself — 
the  way  which  looked  at  this  earthly  pilgrimage  as 
merely  a  probationary  state.  What  mattered  it  if  she 
passed  it  in  Job  Maine's  hut  or  up  in  thrifty  New 
England  ?  It  would  pass.  It  would  pass. 

The  spare,  erect  woman,  in  her  homely  clothes, 
stood  gazing  out  upon  the  glittering  water.  The 
ardent  sunlight  beat  down  upon  her,  but  she  did  not 
feel  it.  She  was  thinking  of  the  grave  at  home,  the 
grave  which  had  been  covered  with  snow  the  day  she 
left. 

"Give  my  love  to  my  little  girl." 

Lyman's  hollow  voice  was  in  her  ears.  She  was 
continually  hearing  him  tell  her  to  give  his  love  to  his 
little  girl. 

Mrs.  Gerry  stood  perfectly  still.  She  did  not  even 
clasp  her  hands  under  the  black  shawl  she  wore. 
The  stress  of  feeling  upon  her  did  not  manifest  itself 
by  any  movement  of  her  body. 

While  she  had  been  taking  care  of  her  husband,  in 
the  intensity  of  that  time,  it  was  natural  that  every 
thing  else  should  have  been  somewhat  in  the  back 
ground.  She  had  never  forgotten  Salome  ;  but  the 


TIRED 


317 


thought  of  the  girl  and  of  her  peculiarities  had  be 
come  faint  by  comparison  with  the  dreadful  present. 
Now  it  did  not  seem  to  the  woman  that  it  was  simply 
because  of  what  Mrs.  Darrah  had  just  said  ;  it  was 
only  a  thorough  awakening  to  a  knowledge  of  what 
her  daughter  really  was. 

Mrs.  Gerry  turned  at  this  stage  of  her  thought  and 
walked  quickly,  not  out  of  the  city,  but  towards  the 
old  fort.  She  could  not  yet  go  in  the  direction  which 
would  bring  the  possibility  of  meeting  Moore  and 
Salome.  And  she  felt  as  if  she  must  sit  down  some 
where  ;  and  she  must  be  by  herself.  Thus  far  it  had 
not  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  tired.  The  neighbors 
had  all  agreed  that  "  Mis'  Gerry  was  real  tough  ;  she 
had  held  out  wonderful." 

And  she  had  held  out  wonderfully.  But  now,  like 
an  overwhelming  wave,  with  the  real  belief  that 
Salome  was  not  "  reliable,"  the  mother  was  conscious 
that  she  was  weary,  deathly  weary.  She  dared  not 
look  forward  to  the  battle  of  the  years. 

She  sat  down  on  the  water-battery  where  Salome 
so  often  sat.  But,  unlike  Salome,  the  elder  woman 
was  conscious  of  no  soothing  or  relaxing  influences 
from  her  surroundings.  She  sat  bent  forward,  with 
her  hands  clasped  over  her  drawn-up  knees.  It  was 
an  attitude  she  had  never  assumed  before — a  sort  of 
aboriginal  attitude  which,  in  one  like  Mrs.  Gerry,  was 
more  eloquent  than  anything  she  could  have  done. 

She  had  never  been  one  who  had  given  up  to  idle 
musings  or  reveries.  Now  her  thoughts  went  on  one 
after  the  other,  like  troops  marching  in  a  clear  light. 
They  denied  and  turned  and  deployed,  distinct  in  the 
white  light.  But  they  seemed  to  mean  nothing. 
They  were  only  marching.  And  the  light  was  so 


318  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

clear  on  them.  She  wished  the  light  had  been  less 
clear.  She  was  mistaken.  They  did  mean  something. 
Mrs.  Gerry  moved  uneasily.  They  meant  something 
about  Salome's  lying.  That  was  the  dreadful  part  of 
it.  There  was  something  which  Mrs.  Gerry  could  not 
understand,  though  she  tried  her  utmost. 

Then  her  good  sense  came  to  her  aid  and  told  her 
that  she  was  so  tired  ;  she  had  had  such  a  strain  upon 
her  that  she  was  now  feeling  the  consequences.  She 
must  rest. 

She  made  a  slight  motion  as  if  she  would  rise.  But 
she  did  not  rise.  Then  a  fleeting  question  came 
through  her  mind.  She  asked  herself  how  it  would 
seem  if  some  one  should  take  care  of  her.  She  had 
never  been  taken  care  of  in  her  life.  She  had  always 
been  the  stronger.  She  had  been  glad  to  be  able  to 
have  the  care. 

She  bent  forward  still  more  as  she  clasped  her 
knees.  She  wished  Salome  had  the  right  idea  about 
truth. 

There  were  footsteps  approaching  rapidly ;  not  the 
footsteps  of  saunterers,  but  of  one  with  a  purpose. 
They  paused  close  to  her,  and  a  hand  was  held  out. 
She  looked  up  into  Moore's  happy  eyes. 

"We  have  been  waiting  for  you  in  the  palmetto 
scrub,"  he  said,  "  until  at  last  we  were  anxious.  Come, 
now." 

Mrs.  Gerry  took  his  hand,  which  folded  round  her 
tired  fingers.  She  tried  to  smile. 

"  You  remembered  me  ?"  she  asked. 

And  when  she  had  said  such  words  she  knew  that 
she  must  be  more  tired  than  ever  before  in  her  life, 
or  surely  she  would  not  have  been  so  weak  as  to 
speak  like  that. 


XVIII 

"AND  NOW  THERE  is  NOTHING  BETWEEN  us" 

MOORE  stood  for  a  moment  silently  beside  Mrs. 
Gerry.  He  had  helped  her  to  her  feet,  and  now  had 
her  hand  drawn  through  his  arm. 

"  I  should  think  we  did  remember  you,"  he  said  at 
last.  "We  would  not  go  any  farther  than  the  scrub.  We 
waited  for  you  there.  Salome  was  continually  saying 
we  ought  not  to  have  left  you.  Finally  she  declared 
we  must  come  back  and  find  you — and  here  I  am." 

"  But  where  is  the  child  ?''  Mrs.  Gerry  was  again 
reproving  herself  that  she  should  be  so  weakly  grateful 
for  this  attention.  She  found  it  difficult  to  refrain 
from  tears.  She  held  herself  stiff  that  she  might  not 
lean  on  Moore's  arm  as  she  listened  to  the  young 
man's  reply. 

"  We  met  Miss  Nunally  by  the  old  market.  She 
wanted  to  say  something  to  Salome.  Just  then  we 
saw  you,  and  I  came  right  on.  Shall  we  sit  clown 
here  a  while,  Mrs.  Gerry  ?" 

Though  she  appeared  so  well  able  to  stand,  Moore 
had  a  sense  that  the  woman  on  his  arm  was  ready  to 
drop. 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  have  been  sitting  here  and  resting," 
was  the  reply.  "  We  will  go." 

She  faced  about  with  her  prim,  concise  movement, 
her  hand  still  within  Moore's  arm. 


320  THE    TWO   SALOMES 

He  turned  also.  Then,  with  an  inarticulate  ex 
clamation,  he  bent  over  her,  literally  lifting  her  in  his 
arms.  She  had  strength  to  say  : 

"  I  can  walk  well  enough,"  before  she  lost  power  to 
say  anything. 

While  the  young  man  knelt  there  on  the  stones  of 
the  battery  supporting  his  burden,  he  saw  Salome 
hurrying  towards  him.  It  was  she  who  insisted  that 
her  mother  should  be  taken  to  the  cabin.  She  said 
she  knew  her  mother  would  be  more  contented  there 
than  in  any  hotel  or  lodging-house  in  the  city. 

So  the  three  were  driven  out  in  a  carriage.  Job 
Maine,  at  sight  of  that  carriage  with  its  two  horses, 
began  to  consider  whether  he  could  not  charge 
something  in  the  way  of  a  toll  for  its  passage  over 
his  land.  It  took  a  great  deal  of  tobacco  to  enable 
him  to  carry  on  this  process  of  thought,  and  it  was 
also  such  a  work  of  time  that  the  carriage  had  gone 
back  to  the  city,  its  driver  taking  a  message  to  a 
physician,  before  Mr.  Maine  had  come  to  any  con 
clusion. 

Mrs.  Gerry  had  recovered  consciousness  almost 
immediately.  She  had  protested  against  having  a 
carriage.  She  said  she  could  walk  perfectly  well.  It 
was  a  ridiculous  extravagance  in  Moore,  and  she  her 
self  could  not  afford  it. 

Moore  laughed  in  that  infectious  way  of  his.  He 
said  he  was  a  rising  young  business  man,  and  that 
Mrs.  Gerry  had  no  idea  of  the  amount  of  money  he 
made. 

But  Salome  did  not  laugh.  She  sat  by  her  mother 
with  her  arm  about  her,  watching  her  face  with  dilat 
ed,  anxious  eyes.  It  did  occur  to  the  girl  that  she 
ought  not  to  let  her  anxiety  display  itself  with  such 


"AND  NOW  THERE  is  NOTHING  BETWEEN  us"  321 

emphasis,  and  she  tried  to  conceal  it,  without  the 
least  success. 

She  was  continually  glancing  at  Moore  and  saying, 
in  an  eager,  explanatory  way  : 

"  You  know  she  is  very  tired.  It  is  only  because 
she  is  so  very  tired." 

And  Moore  would  answer  that  he  knew  that  very 
well.  When  she  had  rested  a  day  or  two  things 
would  be  all  right  again. 

Then  Salome  would  ask,  piteously  : 

"  You  are  sure  of  that  ?     You  are  sure  of  that  ?'' 

And  Moore  would  declare  that  he  was  as  sure  as 
of  his  own  existence. 

Mrs.  Gerry  was  really  obliged  to  lean  back  on  the 
cushioned  seat.  And  she  could  only  try  to  smile  in 
reassurance  at  her  daughter. 

She  laid  herself  down  on  the  bed  in  the  cabin. 
She  said  she  would  lie  for  an  hour  or  two  and  rest. 

Mrs.  Job  Maine,  who  had  not  walked  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  for  years,  and  who  had  often  announced  that 
she  had  never  been  used  to  walking  when  she  resided 
with  that  first  family  of  Alabama,  of  which  she  was 
an  adorning  member  —  this  lady  was  now  so  moved 
by  curiosity  that  she  traversed  on  foot  the  distance 
between  her  hut  and  the  hut  occupied  by  the  Gerrys. 

She  arrived  in  a  panting  state,  and  sank  down  im 
mediately  in  a  chair  by  the  door.  She  had  not  known 
why  these  two  women  had  been  away  for  a  time,  and 
she  did  not  know  why  they  had  come  back.  Her 
husband  had  wondered  if  he  could  not  charge  more 
for  the  cabin  if  his  tenants  allowed  it  to  be  empty, 
lie  said  a  house  "kinder  run  down  when  it  was  left 
empty." 

Mrs.  Maine  sat  in  her  chair  while  these  thoughts 


322  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

went  dully  through  her  mind,  and  while  she  watched 
the  three  people  before  her. 

Moore  had  made  a  fire  in  the  fireplace  under  the 
impression  that  a  fire  must  be  necessary.  He  was 
still  crouching  there  and  coaxing  the  slow  blaze  with 
bits  of  fat  pine. 

Salome  had  found  the  bottle  of  whiskey  which  had 
been  brought  South  for  her  use.  She  had  brought 
some,  weakened  with  water,  and  was  now  sitting  on 
the  side  of  the  bed  watching  her  mother  as  she 
sipped  the  liquid. 

Mrs.  Maine  sniffed  audibly.  The  odor  of  whiskey 
had  power  to  bring  a  faint  hint  of  an  expression  to 
her  flat,  straw-colored  face. 

She  shuffled  her  bare  feet  on  the  floor. 
•"  I  thought  I'd  curm  over  'n'  inquire  how  yo1  was," 
she  said,  "though  it's  my  day  fur  thur  shakes,  'n'  I'm 
jist  drained  er  whiskey,  I  be.  Job  thought  las'  night 
he  was  gwine  ter  have  thur  shakes,  'n'  her  swallered 
thur  whiskey — every  durned  drap  lie  swallered." 

The  woman  sighed  so  heavily  and  so  ostentatiously 
that  Mrs  Gerry  said,  in  a  whisper,  to  her  daughter : 

"Give  her  a  cup  of  whiskey." 

The  girl  obeyed.  But  she  did  not  try  to  conceal 
the  disgust  the  woman  excited  in  her.  She  turned 
away  her  head  that  she  might  not  see  the  liquor  swal 
lowed.  But  she  heard  it  as  it  went  rapidly  down  the 
woman's  throat. 

Mrs.  Maine  did  not  find  it  convenient  to  leave. 
Having  come  and  having  seated  herself,  she  felt  that 
she  was  rather  more  comfortable  than  if  she  were  at 
home.  She  drew  out  a  snuff-stick,  which.  bein<r  half 

o 

chewed,  was  now  in  an  ideal  state  for  chewing.     She 
moistened  it  in  her  mouth,  and  then  skilfully  inserted 


"AND    NOW    THERE    IS    NOTHING    BETWEEN    US  "    323 

it  in  a  little  paper  bag  of  snuff,  which  never  was 
allowed  to  leave  her  person.  With  a  grunt  of  satis 
faction  she  now  put  the  prepared  stick  back  in  her 
mouth. 

"  I  mout's  well  be  right  hyar,  if  you  should  need  a 
'oman's  help,"  she  said,  glancing  at  Salome. 

Moore  now  stood  up  in  front  of  the  fire.  He  was 
staring  at  Mrs.  Maine.  There  was  a  laugh  in  his 
eyes  but  a  frown  on  his  brow.  Mrs.  Gerry's  strict 
sense  of  hospitality  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  ask 
the  woman  to  go,  and,  weak  as  she  was  and  overcome 
by  all  she  had  recently  suffered,  she  was  conscious  of 
an  hysterical  and  growing  sense  of  the  ludicrousncss 
of  this  visit. 

She  turned  her  head  on  the  pillow.  She  could  shut 
out  the  sight  of  the  guest,  but  she  could  not  shut  out 
the  sound  of  the  enjoyment  of  that  snuff-stick,  and 
the  sound  made  her  ill. 

Moore  suddenly  started  forward  from  his  position 
by  the  chimney.  He  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Maine, 
and  begged  her  to  show  him  that  big  pine  her  hus 
band  had  mentioned. 

Before  she  had  time  to  consider  she  had  taken 
Moore's  arm,  and  he  had  pulled  her  up  from  her 
chair  and  walked  her  out-of-doors.  With  a  laugh 
that  was  half  a  sob  Salome  put  her  head  down  on  the 
pillow  by  her  mother. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  Moore  had  left  Mrs. 
Maine  safely  in  her  own  cabin  with  a  gratuitous  half 
a  dollar  for  future  whiskey,  he  came  back  and  looked 
in  at  the  open  door.  He  came  softly,  and  took  off 
his  hat  as  he  glanced. 

Salome  was  lying  beside  Mrs.  Gerry.  The  girl's 
arm  was  thrown  protectively  over  her  companion. 


324  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

They  were  perfectly  quiet.  Evidently  they  were 
asleep. 

The  young  man  turned  away.  He  had  noted  how 
thin  and  white  Mrs.  Gerry's  face  was. 

With  his  hat  still  in  his  hand  he  walked  to  that 
fallen  pine-tree  near  the  banana  where  Job  Maine  so 
frequently  reposed  in  the  midst  of  the  toils  of  life. 
He  sat  down  and  gazed  steadfastly  before  him.  His 
face  was  good  to  look  at  as  he  sat  there.  He  was 
thinking  how,  henceforward,  he  would  take  care  of 
those  two  women.  He  was  feeling  grateful  that  Sa 
lome  had  such  a  mother.  He  reverenced  that  unbend 
ing  integrity,  that  rigid  adherence  under  all  circum 
stances  to  the  bald  truth.  He  had  felt  that  from  Mrs. 
Gerry  from  the  first.  Indeed,  the  person  must  be 
very  dull  who  had  no  sense  of  this  part  of  the  wom 
an's  character. 

From  her  Moore's  thoughts  turned  to  Salome. 
The  girl  was  infinitely  more  charming  to  him  because 
she  puzzled  him  somewhat.  Her  "  two  kinds  of  faces," 
as  Miss  Nunally  had  once  said,  would  hold  his  inter 
est  vivid  for  years  to  come,  he  believed.  Two  kinds  ? 
She  had  a  dozen.  How  could  custom  ever  make  dull 
"her  infinite  variety?" 

To  Moore  it  seemed  a  special  gift  of  Providence 
that  he  should  love  a  girl  whose  nature  was  so  com 
plex.  He  told  himself  that  Salome  inherited  perfect 
integrity  from  her  mother,  and  from  somebody  else  a 
richness  of  life  which  made  her  more  enchanting  than 
anything  he  could  have  dreamed.  Yes,  he  was  cer 
tainly  a  very  fortunate  young  man. 

He  resolved  fervently  to  be  worthy  of  this  good- 
fortune  ;  to  live  more  and  more  up  to  that  higher  life 
which  was  always  beckoning  him.  Of  late  it  had 


"AND  NOW  THERE  is  NOTHING  BETWEEN  us"  325 

seemed  quite  easy  to  keep  the  higher  life  well  in  view. 
Love  was  a  great  elevator  and  purifier. 

He  had  forgotten  at  this  moment  what  Salome  had 
said  about  not  caring  for  truth  and  for  the  higher  life. 
Her  words  had  not  made  much  impression  upon  him. 
He  had  considered  them  piquant  and  unlike  what 
other  girls  would  have  said.  Other  girls  would  have 
made  a  great  pretence  of  love  for  all  exalted  states  of 
being. 

So  Moore  mused  happily  while  he  waited  for  the 
arrival  of  the  doctor  from  Augustine,  or  for  some 
sign  from  the  cabin. 

As  he  sat  there  the  black  and  white  hound  Jack, 
who  had  been  thrown  into  despair  by  the  absence  of 
Mrs.  Gerry  and  her  daughter,  came  despondently 
loping  from  a  distance  among  the  pines. 

The  dog  was  returning  from  a  three  days'  trip  into 
the  barrens.  lie  looked  weary  and  depressed.  He  had 
not  seen  Moore  when  he  sat  down  on  his  haunches 
and  gave  himself  up  for  a  few  moments  to  a  battle 
with  fleas.  Then  he  stretched  up  his  neck  and  howled 
long  and  dolefully.  He  evidently  believed  his  new 
friends  had  gone  forever,  and  he  was  in  clespair.r 

At  the  second  howl  Moore  sprang  to  his  feet. 
There  is  hardly  a  more  desolate  and  depressing  sound 
than  a  dog's  howl. 

"  Is  that  Jack  ?''  asked  a  quick  voice  from  the  hut. 
It  was  Salome.  Her  face  was  whiter  than  usual  and 
her  voice  almost  sharp.  She  had  always  been  inclined 
to  superstition,  but  of  late  the  weakness  had  grown 
upon  her,  as  the  practical,  good-sense  vein  had  seemed 
to  retreat  in  her. 

Moore  whistled.  The  dog  came  eagerly  forward ; 
but  he  did  not  notice  Moore  in  the  least.  He  sprang 


326  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

upon  Salome,  and  began  that  process  of  devouring 
which  is  so  pathetic  in  its  intensity  of  emotion.  He 
had  fully  concluded  that  he  should  never  see  this  friend 
again  ;  and  here  she  was,  miraculously  returned. 

Salome  withdrew  with  him  from  the  hut  lest  his 
demonstrations  might  waken  her  mother,  who  was  still 
sleeping  heavily. 

Moore  instantly  joined  her.  She  looked  at  him  re 
proachfully. 

"Why  did  you  let  him  howl  ?"  she  asked.  Her  voice 
trembled  as  she  put  the  question. 

"  But  I  couldn't  help  it.  Besides,  it  is  nothing  for  a 
dog  to  howl,"  was  the  reply. 

"  If  you  had  only  cared  you  might  have  prevented 
it,"  insisted  Salome,  whose  face  was  deeply  clouded, 
and  who  was  not  in  the  least  inclined  to  be  reasonable. 

Moore  smiled  with  a  gentle,  but  still  a  masculine, 
superiority.  His  spirits  were  too  high  for  him  to  be 
affected  by  any  such  trifle  as  the  howling  of  a  dog. 

"  You  needn't  laugh,"  said  the  girl,  and  turned  from 
him,  with  her  hand  on  the  dog's  head. 

Moore  protested  that  he  had  never  felt  less  like 
laughing  in  his  life  ;  but  that  Salome  was  really  foolish 
if  she  thought  a  second  time  of  Jack's  howling.  It 
was  the  fleas. 

"  The  fleas  !"  exclaimed  Salome ;  and  then  she  asked 
her  companion  if  he  thought  men  could  know  any  more 
if  they  tried.  But  before  he  could  answer  she  inquired 
if  he  remembered  those  crows. 

Moore  looked  bewildered.  "  Those  crows  ?''  he  re 
peated. 

Then  Salome's  aspect  changed  instantly.  She  went 
to  Moore  and  put  her  hand  through  his  arm.  She 
looked  up  at  him. 


"AND  NOW  THERE  is  NOTHING  BETWEEN  us"  327 

''Oh,1'  she  breathed,  "  I  am  so  thankful  that  men 
are  not  as  silly  as  women  !" 

Having  said  this,  she  would  not  linger  a  moment. 
She  hurried  back  to  the  hut,  to  find  her  mother  still 
sleeping. 

When  at  last  the  doctor  came  he  found  Mrs.  Gerry 
awake  and  sitting  propped  up  in  bed.  She  said  that 
she  could  just  as  well  get  up;  but  still  she  did  not 
get  up. 

The  decision  the  physician  gave  was  that  the 
woman  was  nearly  worn  out ;  that  she  must  lie  there 
where  she  was  and  be  taken  care  of.  He  brusquely 
ordered  her  to  stop  thinking,  and  when  she  remon 
strated  he  said  she  could  make  her  mind  a  blank  if 
she  chose,  and  her  mind  must  be  a  blank  before  she 
gained  much  strength.  He  remarked  that  one  wom 
an  could  not  carry  the  universe,  even  with  the  best 
intentions. 

Moore  went  back  to  the  city  with  him  to  get  his 
prescription  filled. 

And  so  began  those  days  which,  sad  as  they  were, 
were  yet  brightened  for  Salome  by  Moore's  tender  and 
untiring  devotion. 

The  girl  seemed  to  be  nothing  now  but  her  mother's 
nurse.  She  watched  and  waited,  and  would  not  sleep. 

It  was  as  if  she  could  not  give  herself  enough  that 
her  mother  might  recover.  It  was  in  vain  that  Mrs. 
Gerry  would  say  again  and  again  : 

"  Salome,  you  must  spare  yourself.  You  won't  hold 
out." 

Salome  would  only  smile  and  say  nothing ;  or  she 
would  exclaim  passionately  that  surely  God  would 
give  her  strength  now. 

Her  mother  was  too  weak  to  contend  or  to  com- 


328  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

mand.  She  lay  there  and  submitted  for  the  first  time 
since  her  childhood  to  being  cared  for. 

The  days  passed  with  strange  quickness  ;  and  all 
the  days  seemed  alike  to  the  girl,  who  sat  by  the  bed 
or  who  sometimes  placed  her  chair  outside  the  door, 
always  keeping  within  reach  of  her  mother's  voice. 

Mrs.  Gerry  felt  her  child's  tenderness  and  care  with 
a  poignancy  that  was  painful  at  first.  But  when  she 
would  ask  Salome  what  the  doctor  said  about  his 
patient  she  never  knew  whether  Salome  told  her  the 
truth  or  not. 

Sometimes  Mrs.  Gerry  would  open  her  eyes  to  find 
her  daughter  looking  at  her  fixedly,  as  if  there  were  a 
weight  on  her  mind.  Mrs.  Gerry  would  think  she 
would  ask  what  it  was,  but  she  was  too  weak  to  do  it. 

The  woman's  thoughts  partook  something  of  the 
weakness  of  her  body.  She  was  dimly  thankful  that 
she  could  not  suffer  acutely.  It  was  a  dulness  that 
brought  at  last  certain  healing  with  it. 

But  when  the  healing  began  Mrs.  Gerry  seemed  to 
her  daughter  more  ill  than  ever. 

Walter  Redd  made  two  solemn,  brief  calls  at  the 
cabin  before  he  departed  on  a  journey  of  exploration 
through  the  State.  He  said  he  was  going  to  find  out 
if  there  was  any  more  money  to  be  made  in  orange 
groves  than  in  apple  orchards.  He  talked  ponderously 
on  this  subject  with  Salome,  and  he  never  looked  at  her 
while  he  spoke.  He  did  not  seem  inclined  to  speak  of 
anything  but  orange  raising.  He  went  to  the  bed  and 
shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Gerry.  He  told  her  he  knew 
she  was  pretty  sick,  but  he  believed  she  would  come 
out  all  right. 

It  was  after  that  that  Mrs.  Gerry  appeared  to  grow 
more  ill ;  at  least,  Salome  thought  so. 


"AND  NOW  THERE  is  NOTHING  BETWEEN  us     329 

It  was  one  night,  two  weeks  from  her  seizure.  It 
was  a  densely  dark  time,  and  a  violent  south  wind 
was  blowing.  The  trees  and  shrubs  thrashed  about ; 
the  banana  leaves  were  torn  to  ribbons. 

The  frogs  piped  shrilly. 

Salome  hardly  knew  whether  it  was  the  night  which 
made  her  so  uneasy.  She  usually  liked  a  south  wind. 

Mrs.  Gerry  had  been  sleeping  fitfully,  but  when 
Salome  came  back  from  one  of  her  visits  to  the  open 
door  she  saw  her  mother's  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 

"  Child,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gerry,  anxiously,  "  you 
must  sleep  more  !" 

"Oh,  I've  been  sleeping  all  the  time,"  came  the 
answer,  directly. 

Mrs.  Gerry's  eyes  closed  again.  She  was  sure  that 
Salome  had  not  slept.  She  tried  to  tell  herself  that 
this  was  an  amiable  falsehood.  And  she  knew  that 
it  was  only  one  of  many  which  the  girl  had  told  her 
of  late.  As  she  lay  there  she  almost  believed  that  a 
lie  came  as  readily  as  the  truth  to  Salome's  lips — a 
plausible,  agreeable  lie. 

Then  the  woman  tried  to  ask  herself  if  a  lie  were 
any  worse  than  covetousness.  Was  it  worse  to  break 
one  commandment  than  another  ?  But  she  was  too 
weak  and  weary  to  argue  any  point  now.  She  only 
groaned.  And  to  groan  was  a  luxury  that  she  would 
not  think  of  permitting  herself  if  she  were  ordinarily 
strong. 

Salome  sprang  to  the  side  of  the  bed  with  her  rapid 
and  yet  gentle  motion.  She  knelt  down  with  her  arm 
under  her  mother's  neck. 

The  lamplight  fell  on  the  girl's  face,  and  showed  it 
with  an  uncontrollable  terror  upon  it. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  barely 


33°  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

audible — "  I  have  been  thinking  one  thing  ever  since 
you've  been  ill." 

"  Hush !"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  in  her  old  way  of  trying 
to  soothe  her  child. 

"  No  ;  I  can't  hush.  I  can't  keep  silent  any  longer. 
For  if  you  should  die — 

Here  the  voice  ceased  entirely. 

Evidently  Salome  was  fighting  quietly  with  herself. 

Mrs.  Gerry  tried  to  rally,  and  to  say  some  calm, 
reasonable  words  to  her  daughter.  But  the  words 
would  not  come.  She  was  too  weak.  She  lay  there 
motionless,  her  heart  beating  painfully. 

Finally  she  whispered,  "  Raise  my  head  a  little 
higher." 

The  girl  eagerly  obeyed  her. 

In  the  silence  that  now  followed,  the  sound  of  the 
wind  grew  louder.  The  cabin  rocked.  It  was  sultry. 
Jack,  the  hound,  lying  across  the  open  doorway,  rose 
and  sat  uneasily  on  his  haunches,  yawning  audibly. 

"  Salome,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  who  had  at  last  gained 
a  little  strength,  "  does  the  doctor  say  I  am  going  to 
die  now  ?" 

"  He  said  he  thought  you  would  get  over  this,"  was 
the  answer. 

"  Is  that  the  truth  ?" 

These  words  were  spoken  with  painful  emphasis. 

"  Yes,  mother." 

Another  silence,  which  at  last  was  broken  by  the 
girl. 

"  But  I  can't  bear  this  any  longer,  mother.  What 
should  I  do  if  you  should  die  ? — and  then  you  would, 
perhaps,  know  everything.  I  am  not  talking  about 
my  grief  ;  I  am  talking  about  something  else  now. 
Do  you  think  the  dead  know  everything  ?" 


"AND  NOW  THERE  is  NOTHING  BETWEEN  us"  331 

"  Salome,  why  are  you  saying  this  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry's  heart  beat  still  more  painfully. 

"  Oh,  I  must  say  it !"  went  on  the  girl.  "  I  have 
been  trying  to  speak  all  the  time.  But  it  seemed 
cruel  to  distress  you.  It  is  cruel." 

Mrs.  Gerry  could  not  speak.  She  was  motionless. 
She  was  only  faintly  conscious  of  a  curiosity  concern 
ing  what  the  child  had  to  say.  Her  one  absorbing 
but  fruitless  wish  was  to  help  the  child,  and  help  her 
as  she  had  always  done. 

"  If  you  should  die,"  began  Salome  again,  "  and 
should  then  find  that  I  had  not  told  you,  perhaps  you 
would  blame  me  even  more  than  you  will  now,  and 
then  I  could  not  comfort  you.  I  could  not  put  my 
arms  about  you  and  tell  you  I  am  not  really  wicked 
at  heart — not  at  heart ;  at  least,  I  don't  feel  so.  But 
it  may  be  that  nobody  really  feels  wicked.  Oh, 
mother — 

Salome's  heavy,  persistent  voice  paused  for  an  in 
stant. 

Keenest  emotion  had  now  penetrated  through  all 
the  stupor  in  which  prostration  had  enveloped  Mrs. 
Gerry. 

She  raised  her  head  that  she  might  look  more  fully 
at  her  daughter. 

When  her  head  sank  back  again  she  exclaimed,  in 
a  strong  tone  : 

"  Salome,  what  have  you  done  ?    Tell  the  truth  !" 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  the  truth  now,  certainly,"  was  the 
reply.  "But  you  need  never  have  known.  Only,  if 
it  did  happen  that  you  knew,  and  that  I  was  separated 
from  you  because  I  was  alive  and  you  were  dead — 

"  Salome  !"  sharply. 

"About  the  check,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  quickly. 


332  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  What  check  ?"  in  the  same  thin,  high  voice.  Mrs. 
Gerry  had  never  associated  any  event  with  a  check. 

"  The  eight  hundred  dollars,"  said  Salome  ;  "  the 
money  for  father.  It  was  sent  by  a  check,  you  know." 

"  You  mean  the  sum  Mrs.  Darrah  loaned  ?" 

"  Yes ;  only  she  did  not  loan  it  at  first." 

No  response  from  Mrs.  Gerry.  But  she  felt  herself 
growing  stronger  to  meet  this  something  that  was 
coming.  If  it  might  be  a  strength  that  would  stay 
with  her  ! 

"  At  first,"  said  Salome,  visibly  bracing  herself,  "  it 
was  I  who  sent  the  check.  I — I  put  Mrs.  Darrah's 
name  to  it  and  sent  it  directly,  because  I  knew  my 
father  must  have  it.  I  knew  he  could  not  wait.  It 
did  not  seem  much  to  do." 

Still  no  response  from  the  woman  lying  there. 

"  Did  you  hear  ?"  whispered  Salome. 

A  slight  movement  seemed  to  signify  assent. 

Salome  remained  quiet  as  long  as  she  could. 

"  Mother  !"  shrilly,  and  after  she  could  not  bear  the 
silence  another  instant. 

"  Yes,  child." 

"  Mother,  don't  you  love  me  any  more  ?" 

The  agony  in  the  young  tone  pierced  the  woman's 
soul. 

Mrs.  Gerry's  voice  might  have  been  mistaken  for 
that  of  her  daughter  as  she  said  : 

"  Love  you  !  I  love  you  more  than  ever,  if  that 
were  possible.  But — 

Here  the  voice  failed  utterly. 

"  But  what?   You  shall  tell  me,  mother.    But  what?" 

And  now  Mrs.  Gerry's  strength  began  to  flag.  It 
had  only  come  under  the  whip  of  intense  excitement. 
If  it  had  not  flagged,  if  she  had  been  herself,  she 


"  AND    NOW  THERE    IS    NOTHING    BETWEEN    US  "    333 

would  not  have  obeyed  this  demand,  imperative 
though  it  was.  She  would  have  realized  too  keenly 
how  her  reply  might  wound. 

Salome  was  now  standing  over  the  bed.  The  im 
pulse  which  had  been  urging  her  for  many  days  to 
speak  was  still  strong  upon  her.  She  was  glad  she 
had  spoken.  It  was  done  now.  There  was  no  secret 
between  her  and  her  mother. 

"  Why  did  you  say  '  but '  in  that  way  ?"  she  re 
peated,  with  the  fierceness  of  unrestrained  anxiety. 
"  You  still  love  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes.  But,  Salome,  don't  you  think  I  want  to 
respect  you  also  ?'' 

"  Oh  !" 

When  she  had  uttered  this  exclamation  the  girl 
wavered  as  she  stood  there.  Then  she  suddenly  knelt 
do\vn  by  the  bed  and  pressed  her  face  among  the 
clothes. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gerry,  she  had  borne  all  she  could 
bear  at  that  moment.  She  shut  her  eyes  and  dimly 
thanked  herself  that  she  could  not  feel  anything  more. 
She  did  not  faint,  but  her  mind  lapsed  into  a  state  as 
limp  and  strengthless  as  her  body. 

She  knew  that  her  daughter  was  giving  her  a  stim 
ulating  medicine,  and  she  tried  to  make  some  re 
sponse.  But  she  could  only  feebly  swallow  the  liquid 
and  then  sink  back  on  the  pillow. 

In  the  hour  which  followed  she  hardly  knew  that 
Salome  was  all  the  time  kneeling  close  to  her.  The 
girl  was  perfectly  quiet.  She  often  raised  her  head 
and  looked  at  her  mother.  There  was  nothing  for 
her  to  do.  She  must  wait  now  for  the  shock  to  have 
spent  itself. 

In  the  midst  of  the  girl's  anguish  there  was  a  faint 


334  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

fire  of  resentment  that  the  knowledge  of  that  forgery 
should  have  such  an  effect.  She  asked  herself  if  it 
would  not  have  been  better  if  she  had  heeded  Portia 
Nunally's  advice  and  kept  this  secret.  Why  should 
she  tell  ?  But  no.  She  would  not  keep  anything 
from  her  mother.  Her  mother  must  know  the  very 
worst  of  her  in  every  way.  And  that  forgery  was  of 
course  the  worst. 

The  night  wore  on  slowly.  Towards  morning  the 
wind  subsided,  and  it  began  to  rain  in  heavy  dashes, 
as  it  sometimes  rained  in  the  summer  at  home.  Sa 
lome  was  obliged  to  shut  the  door.  The  hound 
begged  so  to  remain  inside  that  she  let  him  stay. 

She  put  on  more  wood  and  sat  by  the  fire,  feeling 
very  thankful  that  the  dog  had  stopped  with  her.  She 
could  look  at  him  and  think  that  it  would  not  make 
the  slightest  difference  to  him  if  she  had  been  guilty 
of  a  thousand  crimes.  It  was  very  uncomfortable  that 
she  should  have  this  desire  to  tell  what  she  had  done — 
she  did  not  understand.  Of  course  it  was  natural 
that  she  should  wish  to  tell  her  mother.  But  this 
strange  desire  to  know  what  people  would  think.  If 
some  one  would  only  take  the  affair  calmly,  as  she 
herself  was  moved  to  take  it.  She  tried  to  consider 
herself  wicked.  As  she  sat  there  with  the  hound  in 
those  hours  before  the  dawn  she  quite  longed  to  have 
what  she  would  have  called  a  realizing  sense  of  her 
sin. 

The  dawn  was  very  long  in  coming.  In  all  the 
nights  when  she  had  taken  care  of  her  mother  the 
morning  had  never  lagged  so. 

But  she  was  glad  that  no  one  was  with  her.  Moore 
had  tried  to  persuade  her  to  allow  him  to  get  a  nurse. 
She  had  refused  with  something  like  anger.  She 


"AND  NOW  THERE  is  NOTHING  BETWEEN  us"  335 

said  that  she  should  do  everything  for  her  mother. 
She  was  able.  She  appealed  to  the  doctor.  He 
looked  at  her  for  an  instant,  and  then  gave  a  decided 
assent. 

Privately  he  informed  Moore  that  it  would  hurt  the 
girl  much  more  to  take  the  care  from  her  than  to  let 
her  have  it.  Only  keep  watch  of  her  ;  if  she  showed 
any  signs  of  breaking  down,  why,  then  it  would  be 
time  enough  to  get  help. 

Salome,  however,  showed  no  signs  of  breaking 
down. 

She  was  pathetically  thankful  that  she  could  do 
this. 

Moore  came  out  from  the  city  every  day.  And  al 
most  as  often  Miss  Nun  ally  came,  and  sometimes  the 
two  walked  back  together.  Often  also  she  insisted 
upon  sitting  a  while  with  Mrs.  Gerry  while  Salome 
strolled  among  the  pines  with  her  lover.  She  would 
always  keep  within  sight  and  hearing,  however.  She 
was  something  of  a  trial  to  Moore  in  these  days,  for 
she  appeared  absent  and  absorbed.  It  was  easy  to 
forgive  her  that,  since  her  mother's  illness  explained 
this  mood.  It  was  only  at  rare  intervals  that  she  was 
what  Moore  called  "  like  herself."  But  those  intervals 
atoned  for  all,  and  Moore  called  himself  quite  a  god. 
He  explained  this  opinion  of  himself  to  himself  by 
saying  that  since  this  girl  loved  him  he  must  be 
a  god. 

Miss  Nunally,  as  the  two  walked  leisurely  back  to 
St.  Augustine,  used  to  look  at  him  with  questioning 
and  amused  eyes.  She  was  very  agreeable  in  those 
walks.  Major  Root  was  never  mentioned,  and  might 
not  have  been  in  existence  ;  although  a  diamond  of 
his  buying  flashed  upon  Miss  Nunally's  hand. 


336  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

If  she  wore  no  glove,  Portia  had  a  way  of  turning 
that  stone  inward  so  that  only  the  hoop  of  gold  was 
visible. 

Her  aunt  noticed  that  her  niece  was  in  excellent 
spirits  ;  and  in  her  own  mind  she  remarked  that  Portia 
was  just  the  kind  of  girl  to  be  made  happy  by  "  that 
sort  of  thing,"  meaning  an  engagement  to  a  rich  man 
— and  the  authoress  added  that  women  were  little  bet 
ter  than  mere  animals,  after  all  ;  it  gave  them  no  un 
easiness  to  sell  themselves.  She  was  glad  Portia  was 
in  good  spirits,  but  she  could  not  help  despising  her  a 
little  on  account  of  that  fact.  One  was  never  quite 
sure  about  Portia,  anyway.  Mrs.  Darrah  felt  that  she 
should  not  be  entirely  easy  until  the  girl  was  Major 
Root's  wife.  And  then  she  meant  to  forget  her.  She 
did  not  think  that  Major  Root  was  in  a  position  to  be 
congratulated.  But  that  was  his  business.  Mean 
while  Mrs.  Darrah  was  obliged  to  proceed  with  the 
novel  of  sentiment  without  an  amanuensis,  and  Salome 
was  now  doing  nothing  to  help  pay  the  debt  she  had 
contracted,  or,  rather,  that  which  her  employer  had  al 
lowed  to  be  considered  as  a  debt. 

The  clay  following  that  night  when  Salome  had  made 
her  confession  to  her  mother  was  one  of  those  sweet 
and  perfect  days  which  often  come  to  Florida. 

Before  daybreak  the  girl  had  placed  herself  softly 
beside  her  mother  on  the  bed.  She  had  put  out  her 
hand  and  touched  her  mother's  hand.  The  fingers 
had  closed  feebly  on  her  palm.  Then  Salome  had 
breathed  a  deep  sigh,  and  had  gone  to  sleep.  When 
she  wakened  the  sun  was  shining  in  between  the 
logs. 

The  girl  knew  it  was  late.  She  sprang  up  quickly. 
She  had  not  slept  so  soundly  since  her  mother  was  ill. 


"AND  NOW  THERE  is  NOTHING  BETWEEN  us"  337 

"It  is  because  I  told  her,"  she  said  to  herself  ;  "and 
now  there  is  nothing  between  us." 

She  went  joyfully  about  the  work  of  preparing  her 
mother's  breakfast. 

As  she  did  so  a  clear  voice  called  her  from  the  path 
among  the  pines. 


XIX 

"AS    FOR    ME,   I    LOVE    HIM    NOT" 

IT  was  Moore's  voice  that  called.  Salome,  stand 
ing  by  the  kerosene  lamp-stove,  watching  the  heating 
of  some  broth,  heard  it.  She  did  not  move,  save  that 
her  hand  trembled  slightly  as  she  took  the  spoon 
from  the  liquid. 

"  Salome,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry  from  the  bed. 

She  turned  quickly.  It  was  the  first  time  her 
mother  had  spoken  since  she  had  said  that  she  wished 
to  respect  her  daughter.  Mrs.  Gerry's  intent  gaze 
was  on  the  girl.  She  beckoned  feebly. 

In  an  instant  Salome  was  bending  over  her. 

"  Wasn't  that  Mr.  Moore  ?"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes." 

"Was  that  true  that  you  told  me  ?'' 

"  It  was  true." 

"  You  are  sure  I  didn't  dream  it,"  with  an  anguished 
wistfulness  that  was  hard  for  the  girl  to  hear  and  see. 

"  I  told  you,"  she  answered,  bearing  up  bravely. 

''  Does  Mr.  Moore  know  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  no  !" 

Salome  knew  what  was  coming  now. 

"  You  must  tell  him." 

Salome  held  up  her  head  as  she  answered  : 

"Very  well." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  will  tell  him  ?    Remember, 


"AS    FOR    ME,    I    LOVE    HIM     NOT "  339 

it  will  not  be  fair  to  let  him  marry  you — to  let  him 
think  you  are  very  different  from  what  you  really  are." 

As  they  talked  the  young  man's  voice  could  be 
heard  outside.  He  was  speaking  with  Mr.  Maine. 

u  I  understand,"  said  Salome,  still  with  her  head 
flung  up.  "  But  what  am  I,  really  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry  could  not  answer.  She  moved  her  head 
wearily  from  side  to  side  on  the  pillow. 

"  Is  the  broth  ready  ?"  she  asked. 

Salome  brought  the  broth  and  gave  it  with  the 
utmost  tenderness,  as  she  did  everything  for  her 
charge. 

Still  there  was  some  bitterness  in  her  eyes,  and  her 
lips  were  pressed  together.  That  fire  of  resentment 
that  she  should  be  considered  so  wicked  was  still 
smouldering  in  her  consciousness. 

Yes,  certainly,  Moore  ought  to  know  what  a  wretch 
he  wished  to  marry.  It  had  all  the  time  been  in  the 
bottom  of  her  mind  that  she  would  tell  him.  Still, 
with  a  closer  compression  of  the  lips,  Miss  Nunally 
was  probably  right  when  she  advised  silence.  Of 
course  it  was  great  folly  that  one,  after  committing 
a  crime,  should  wish  to  proclaim  it.  Such  a  thing 
should  be  kept  securely  locked.  Somehow  it  seemed 
to  Salome  that  she  ought  to  be  able  to  find  some  one 
who  would  not  be  shocked  ;  some  one  who,  on  being 
informed  of  this  deed,  should  smile  and  remark  that 
it  was  not  worth  being  troubled  about.  For  that  was 
the  way  the  girl  regarded  what  she  had  clone. 

The  hot  drink  stimulated  Mrs.  Gerry.  When  she 
had  drunk  it  she  held  out  her  arms  to  the  girl,  smil 
ing  hopefully  at  her.  The  mother  could  not  bear  to 
see  her  child  suffering. 

"  We  have  each  other,  you  know,"  said  the  elder, 


340  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

with  something  of  her  old  courage.  "  And  I  am  sure 
I  am  better." 

Salome  kept  her  head  down  beside  her  mother. 

"  You  don't  respect  me,"  she  said,  her  voice  muffled 
by  the  pillow. 

Mrs.'  Gerry  winced.     She  did  not  reply. 

Moore  now  appeared  in  the  open  doorway.  The 
sight  of  him  had  always  been  something  like  a  tonic 
to  Mrs.  Gerry,  but  she  could  not  look  at  him  now. 
His  voice  was  cheery  and  hopeful  as  he  made  his 
usual  inquiries.  But  by  the  time  he  had  finished 
speaking  his  mood  had  changed.  He  stepped  quickly 
to  the  bedside.  He  raised  Salome  until  she  rested 
on  his  arm,  but  he  looked  only  at  Mrs.  Gerry  as  he 
asked  : 

"  Has  anything  happened  ?    Are  you  worse  ?'' 

"  I  am  better,"  was  the  reply. 

Then  Mrs.  Gerry  acted  upon  a  sudden  impulse. 
She  did  not  quite  trust  Salome's  resolution  ;  and  she 
was  not  even  sure  that  the  girl  had  made  a  resolution. 

"  Salome  has  something  to  tell  you,"  she  said. 

The  girl  withdrew  herself  from  Moore  and  stood 
apart. 

The  young  man  was  actualy  alarmed. 

"It  is  something  about  that  big,  black -looking 
fellow  who  came  down  with  Mrs.  Gerry,"  was  what 
he  thought. 

He  had  known,  by  intuition  rather  than  by  per 
ception,  that  Redd  loved  Salome.  Was  she  entangled 
with  that  man  ?  Moore  braced  himself  as  if  against 
an  onslaught  of  physical  pain.  He  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets  and  shut  them  there. 

Salome  went  to  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  grasped  the 
cross-piece. 


"AS    FOR    ME,    I    LOVE    HIM     NOT"  341 

She  was  thinking  that  if  her  mother  heard  her,  she 
would  believe.  And  already  Salome  had  experienced 
a  little  of  that  emotion  which  comes  when  one's  word 
is  not  fully  taken.  It  is  probable  that  even  a  hardened 
liar  wishes  to  be  believed  when  speaking  the  truth. 

Moore  looked  at  her.  The  sight  of  her  face  was 
like  the  cut  of  a  knife  to  him.  His  whole  nature  rose 
up  to  protect  her. 

He  took  a  step  towards  her.  A  slight  gesture  from 
her  kept  him  from  advancing. 

'•  Never  mind,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  Don't  tell  me 
anything." 

Salome  hesitated.  She  glanced  at  her  mother. 
But  her  mother's  eyes  did  not  release — they  upheld 
and  stimulated  her. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  not  of  the  least  consequence,"  cried 
Moore,  unable  to  prevent  himself  from  reiterating  his 
assurance.  "  Let  us  wait.  Any  other  time  will  do. 
Why  should  you  suffer  so,  Salome  ?" 

His  voice  had  a  remonstrating  tenderness  that  was 
very  harrowing  for  the  girl  to  hear. 

A  rush  of  feeling  came  over  her.  \Yhy  reveal  any 
thing?  Was  not  the  idea  absurd  ?  Why  try  to  be  so 
ridiculously  honorable  ? 

And  yet — 

She  turned  more  fully  towards  Moore.  No;  she 
would  not  retreat.  There  was  something  in  her  that 
would  now  have  made  her  go  forward,  even  without 
her  mother's  influence. 

She  kept  her  eyes  on  Moore's  face.  It  seemed  an 
impossible  thing  to  do,  but  it  was  still  more  impossible 
not  to  watch  for  every  expression  that  should  come  to 
that  countenance.  If  he  tried  to  deceive  her  by  his 
words,  she  knew  that  he  could  not  deceive  her  with 


342  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

his  face.  He  would  want  to  be  kind.  She  was  sure 
of  that. 

She  clung  to  the  cross-piece  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  You  know  I  always  told  you  I  didn't  care  about 
right  and  wrong,"  she  began. 

Moore  nodded.  He  was  too  bewildered.  There 
must  be  something  really  the  matter,  however.  He 
could  feel  something  dreadful  in  the  air. 

Salome's  voice  went  on  now  quickly.  And  she 
never  once  took  her  eyes  from  his  face. 

She  told  her  story  in  the  fewest  possible  words. 

She  saw  everything  that  came  into  the  man's 
countenance.  When  she  had  said  the  last  word  she 
walked  up  to  Moore  and  caught  sharp  hold  of  his 
arm,  still  looking  at  him.  But  she  did  not  speak. 
She  laughed  lightly. 

She  went  to  the  door,  while  he  gazed  at  her. 

She  stopped  in  the  doorway  a  moment.  As  she 
stood  there  the  hound  came  and  placed  himself  be 
side  her,  licking  her  hand.  She  did  not  notice  him. 
She  noticed  nothing  but  the  man's  face. 

Presently  she  laughed  again.  As  Mrs.  Gerry  heard 
the  desolation  in  that  laugh  she  started  up  quickly 
and  tried  to  leave  the  bed.  But  she  fell  back. 

"You  are  like  my  mother,  Mr.  Moore,"  said  the 
girl.  "  You  cannot  respect  me." 

And  now  she  walked  away. 

Moore  seemed  to  need  that  she  should  go  in  order 
that  he  might  be  roused. 

He  sprang  out  from  the  door  with  a  movement  that 
brought  him  swiftly  to  the  girl's  side.  He  took  both 
her  hands,  drawing  her  back  into  the  cabin  with  him. 

"  I  see  you  are  sorry  for  me,"  she  said,  in  the  same 
strained  tone  she  had  been  using:. 


"AS    FOR    ME,    I    LOVE    HIM    NOT  343 

"Sorry  for  you  !"  he  cried.  "Good  God!  Don't 
you  see  that  I  love  you  ?" 

There  was  a  very  passion  of  love  and  pity  in  his 
face.  But  Salome  would  not  allow  him  to  draw  her 
near  to  him. 

She  removed  herself  from  his  hold  and  sat  down 
quickly. 

"You  are  like  my  mother,"  she  repeated,  with  a 
painstaking  accuracy,  as  if  she  feared  that  she  should 
miss  a  word.  "  You  cannot  respect  me." 

Moore  stood  still.  He  had  a  frantic  sense  of  help 
lessness.  And  into  his  tumultuous  distress  there  came 
a  remembrance  of  what  this  girl  had  said  to  him  more 
than  once  of  how  he  would  perhaps  some  time  say  to 
himself  that  he  wished  that  he  had  loved  some  one  else. 

He  could  not  think  clearly.  The  overmastering 
impulse  upon  him  was  that  he  must  take  Salome  in 
his  arms  ;  that  he  must  be  more  gentle,  more  tender 
than  he  had  ever  been. 

He  was  gazing  at  her  with  eager  entreaty. 

He  did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Gerry  had  not  ceased 
to  look  at  him  since  Salome  began  to  speak. 

He  stepped  to  the  girl's  side  and  put  his  hand  on 
the  back  of  her  chair,  bending  over  her. 

She  rose  immediately. 

"  I  want  to  be  out-of-doors,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to 
be  under  the  sky." 

He  moved  away  and  let  her  go. 

He  sat  down  in  the  chair  she  had  left  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands. 

He  was  not  thinking  anything  about  whether  he  re 
spected  her  or  not.  His  whole  consciousness  was  full 
of  tenderness  and  of  longing  to  help.  He  wondered 
why  she  would  not  let  him  come  near  her. 


344  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

Then,  like  the  uncoiling  of  a  snake,  came  the  ques 
tion  :  Did  he  respect  her  ? 

He  started  up  in  the  unbearable  agony  of  that  in 
quiry. 

"  Mr.  Moore,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry's  voice  from  the  bed, 
"  will  you  go  away  now  ?" 

Moore  went  mechanically  to  the  bed.  He  stood 
there,  hesitating  an  instant  in  a  bewildered  manner. 
But  it  was  not  in  a  mechanical  way  that  he  stooped 
and  kissed  Mrs.  Gerry's  cheek. 

"  I  shall  come  back,"  he  said ;  "  I  shall  come  back 
in  an  hour  or  two.  Perhaps  we  have  dreamed 
this." 

He  tried  to  smile  as  he  spoke.  Then  he  walked 
quickly  away.  He  saw  standing  by  the  banana-tree 
the  figure  of  Salome,  with  the  hound  just  at  her  hand. 

She  saw  him,  but  she  made  no  sign. 

As  Moore  walked  on  he  recalled  some  of  the  re 
marks  he  had  made  when  talking  about  that  man  in 
Tampa  who  had  forged  his  friend's  signature. 

At  this  memory  Moore  shook  himself  fiercely  as  if 
he  might  awaken. 

But  he  could  not  awaken.  He  went  on  thinking 
steadily  of  that  man.  He  would,  no  doubt,  be  sen 
tenced  for  a  term  of  years.  Yes,  for  a  term  of  years. 
What  kind  of  a  nature  was  it  which  could  do  such  a 
thing  ? 

Moore's  mind  floundered  on  among  horrible  ques 
tions,  his  love  making  each  question  a  separate,  sting 
ing  wound. 

He  had  seen  people  suffer  in  his  life.  He  had  im 
agined,  as  the  hitherto  unhurt  will  imagine,  that  he 
knew  what  suffering  was.  But  this  hour  told  him  that 
he  had  not  known. 


"AS    FOR    ME,'   I    LOVE    HIM    NOT  345 

And  most  of  all,  he  thought,  was  the  sense  of  con 
fusion,  of  groping  in  the  dark. 

Salome  must  be  very  different  from  what  he  had 
believed  her  to  be — very  different ;  or  she  could  never, 
under  any  stress,  have  forged  a  name.  How  was  he 
to  adjust  himself  to  this  new  Salome  who  had  within 
her  the  capability  of  doing  a  mean  crime  ?  He  must 
not  shirk  the  words  :  a  mean  crime.  Didn't  she  have 
any  moral  sense  ?  Had  she  really  meant  all  she  had 
told  him  about  not  caring  ? 

Moore  stumbled  on  through  the  sand.  How  cu 
riously  she  had  talked  about  that  man  in  Tampa  ! 
And  he  had  believed  all  the  time  that  she  spoke  so 
because  of  her  kind  heart. 

The  young  man  paused  when  he  was  at  some  dis 
tance  from  the  cabin.  He  threw  back  his  shoulders, 
inhaling  a  deep  breath.  He  could  not  yet  rid  himself 
of  the  idea  that  this  was  something  which  would  pres 
ently  vanish.  It  is  so  difficult  for  us  to  believe  that  a 
terrible  trouble  may  come  to  us.  To  others  it  may 
come  naturally,  but  not  to  us. 

Having  stood  for  a  moment  with  that  vague  air  that 
is  so  often  indicative  of  suffering,  Moore  began  to 
walk  on  again. 

His  whole  mind  was  now  engaged  in  an  attempt  at 
a  readjustment  of  his  ideas  concerning  Salome.  He 
felt  that  his  heart  was  the  same.  The  complexity  of 
the  girl's  character  had  given  a  keen  zest  to  his  ac 
quaintance  with  her  always.  He  had  known  that  he 
did  not  understand  her.  It  was  going  to  be  one  of 
the  delights  of  his  life  to  learn  to  understand  her.  But 
that  talk  of  hers  which  was  piquant,  which  had  a  flavor 
so  unlike  that  of  any  other  woman  whom  he  had 
known,  was  this  possibility  in  her  one  of  the  causes  of 


346  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

such  words  ?  And  her  face  ?  The  enchanting,  un- 
guessable  possibilities  of  her  face  ?  No,  no  ;  it  could 
not  be. 

To  be  able  to  do  what  she  confessed,  that  must  re 
quire  a  kind  of  person  quite  different  from  the  person 
whom  he  loved. 

But  he  loved  her.  Oh  yes,  he  loved  her.  He 
turned  and  looked  back  at  the  cabin.  He  saw  her 
still  standing  by  the  banana,  with  the  hound  by  her 
side.  It  required  all  his  self-restraint  to  enable  him 
to  remain  away  from  her.  He  was,  however,  quite 
sure  that  she  did  not  wish  him  to  return  now. 

She  had  looked  at  him  so  strangely.  Could  she 
possibly  doubt  his  love  ?  He  had  never  loved  her 
so  strongly  as  now.  And  now  there  was  an  almost 
intolerable  element  of  pity,  a  pity  which  seemed,  in 
deed,  to  be  made  up  of  tenderness. 

He  was  not  thinking  these  things,  apparently;  he 
was  feeling  them. 

And  all  at  once  it  was  simply  impossible  for  him 
to  resist  the  desire  to  hasten  back  to  her.  But  he 
had  not  gone  a  dozen  steps  before  she  turned  and 
glanced  towards  him.  She  waved  him  back  with  her 
hand. 

Still  he  went  on.  He  was  telling  himself  that  noth 
ing  should  keep  him  from  her  now. 

Just  at  that  moment  Miss  Nun  ally  came  walking 
along  the  cart- path  from  the  city.  She  was  but  a 
short  distance  away.  He  paused  in  his  walk,  staring 
rather  than  glancing  at  her. 

She  also  paused  instantly.  A  flash  of  something 
passed  over  her  face. 

"  Mrs.  Gerry — "  she  began.  Moore  made  one  fruit 
less  attempt  to  speak  before  he  was  able  to  say : 


"AS     FOR    ME,    I     LOVE     HIM     NOT"  347 

"  She  is  no  worse." 

"  Oh !"  whispered  Portia,  in  thankfulness. 

Then  she  came  nearer. 

"You  know  about  it,  then  ?"  she  said. 

Moore,  groping  for  some  foothold,  turned  towards 
her  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

There  was  so  much  sympathy  and  kindness  on 
Miss  Nunally's  face  that  the  young  man  extended 
his  hand,  moved  by  that  spontaneous  wish  for  con 
tact  with  a  kindly  human  being  which  is  so  natural 
to  us. 

The  girl  put  her  hand  in  his,  but  instantly  with 
drew  it. 

"  Did  she  tell  you  ?"  she  asked. 

And  again  Moore  said  "yes." 

Miss  Nunally  stood  silent.  But  there  was  a  dis 
tinctly  felt  consolation  to  Moore  in  the  presence  of 
one  who  was  so  plainly  en  rapport  with  him. 

It  has  been  said  of  him  that  he  was  one  who  asked 
and  found  help  from  feminine  nature.  It  was  not  like 
him  to  suffer  or  enjoy  in  silence  and  alone. 

"  She  was  wrong,"  at  last  said  Miss  Nunally. 

She  had  closed  her  sunshade,  and  was  leaning  some 
what  heavily  upon  it.  The  light  was  falling  full  upon 
her  face. 

"  Don't  say  she  was  wrong  !"  he  exclaimed,  harshly. 

"  I  mean  wrong  to  tell  you,"  went  on  Miss  Nunally. 
"  But  it  was  noble  of  her." 

"Yes,  yes  ;  so  it  was,"  was  the  response,  with  some 
eagerness.  "Oh,  Miss  Nunally,  I  don't  understand." 

Portia  half  turned  away.  She  appeared  to  grow 
pale  as  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  impatience  : 

"  There  are  so  many  things  we  cannot  understand. 


348  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

I  think  it  a  mistake  for  us  to  try  to  understand  as 
we  do." 

"  But  it  is  impossible  not  to  try  when  one's  whole 
happiness  is  at  stake,"  answered  Moore,  quickly. 
"  You  don't  know  what  this  is  to  me.  You  cannot 
imagine.  You — 

"Yes,  talk  to  me  like  that,"  interrupted  Miss  Xu- 
nally,  angrily.  "  Assume  that  I  know  nothing,  since 
it  pleases  you  to  do  so.  At  least,  I  know  one  thing, 
Mr.  Moore." 

For  an  instant  Moore's  eyes  were  turned  with  a  per 
sonal  interest  upon  his  companion. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  mean  that  I  am  not  as  good  as  Miss  Gerry." 

"You?      But   you   have   not — you    have    not  — 
Here    the    young    man    found    that    he    could    not 
go  on. 

"  I  have  not  committed  a  forger)',"  said  Portia.  "  I 
meant  that  I  would  not  have  risked  telling  you.  I 
told  her  not  to  do  so.  No  ;  I  would  not  have  risked 
so  much  as  that.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Moore." 

Miss  Nunally  walked  back  along  the  path  by  which 
she  had  come.  She  hesitated,  as  if  she  would  go  to 
Salome  ;  but  she  went  on. 

Moore  gazed  after  her,  not  seeing  her  in  the  least. 
He  did  not  think  of  the  words  she  had  just  spoken. 
But  he  thought  of  them  later,  when  they  flashed  over 
his  mind  with  that  sudden  illuminating  power  which 
lightning  has. 

Now  he  walked  towards  Salome  with  an  air  which 
showed  plainly  that  he  would  not  obey  any  command 
to  leave  her. 

She  shrank  away  a  step,  without  looking  at  him. 
She  had  an  appearance  of  standing  at  bay,  like  some 


"AS    FOR    ME,    I    LOVE    HIM    NOT  349 

weak  animal  which,  by  stress  of  despair,  finally  turns 
and  takes  a  last  position. 

Moore  thought  that  nothing  she  could  have  done 
could  so  touch  him.  But  he  had  no  opportunity  to 
speak.  Before  he  could  choose  among  the  words 
that  came  tumultuously  to  him,  Salome  said  : 

"  I  am  sure  my  mother  needs  me." 

Having  said  this,  she  hurried  into  the  cabin,  and 
Moore  could  not  follow  her. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  go  back  to  Augustine.  He 
could  see  now,  at  some  distance  among  the  pines,  the 
figure  of  Miss  Nunally.  No,  he  would  not  go.  He 
could  not  speak  to  any  one ;  and  he  felt,  after  all, 
that  he  could  not  leave  Salome. 

He  sat  down  on  that  log  so  much  frequented  by 
Mr.  Maine,  and  presently  that  gentleman  came  slouch 
ing  along  from  his  residence. 

This  was  a  presence  utterly  unendurable.  Moore 
sprang  up  and  darted  off  into  the  woods.  Mr.  Maine 
cursed  lazily  as  he  seated  himself.  He  had  intended, 
when  he  saw  the  young  man,  to  borrow  fifty  cents  of 
him.  He  had  already  borrowed  that  amount  a  great 
many  times,  but  that  fact  was  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  continue  to  borrow  indefinitely. 

Mrs.  Gerry  had  been  lying  in  entire  quiet  since  she 
had  been  left  alone.  To  have  the  body  absolutely 
still  sometimes  makes  one  able  to  believe  the  agree 
able  falsehood  that  one  is  calm. 

But  Mrs.  Gerry  never  meant  to  believe  a  false 
hood,  and  she  knew  that  she  was  not  calm,  though 
her  form  might  have  been  a  symbol  for  repose 
when  her  daughter  stepped  within  the  room  and 
looked  at  her. 

Mrs.  Gerry  opened  her  eyes  ;  but  she  closed  them 


350  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

immediately,  unable  for  the  moment  to  bear  the  sight 
of  the  girl's  face. 

Directly,  however,  she  said  :  "  It  was  right  to  tell 
him." 

Salome  said  nothing. 

Mrs.  Gerry  moved. 

"  Do  you  not  think  it  was  right  to  tell  him  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Very  likely,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Then  that  was  the  thing  to  do,"  from  Mrs.  Gerry, 
with  an  air  of  finality.  She  must  adhere  to  that  de 
cision,  whatever  came  of  it.  It  was  impossible  for  her 
to  do  otherwise.  Life,  or  death,  or  happiness,  or  mis 
ery  were  of  no  consequence  to  her  compared  with  the 
things  which  that  decision  stood  for  in  her  mind. 

As  she  lay  there  looking  at  the  girl  she  felt  how  ea 
sily  she  could  give  up  life  and  happiness  for  her.  But 
it  was  not  a  question  of  giving  up  ;  it  was  something 
far  less  simple. 

"  Do  you  not  think  so  ?"  repeated  Mrs.  Gerry. 

She  must  persist  in  this  question. 

Salome  had  an  expression  of  deadly  weariness  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Oh,"  said  Salome,  "  you  know  I  don't  care  about 
such  things." 

"  What  things  ?"  fearfully. 

"  Oh,  right  and  wrong.  I  try  to  care,  because  you 
have  taught  me.  But  that  isn't  really  caring.  Please 
don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it.  I'm  so  tired ! 
and  I  want  to  keep  my  strength.  I  want  to  take  care 
of  you,  mother." 

As  she  finished  speaking  Salome  bent  over  her 
mother,  her  face  suddenly  filling  with  intense  and  ten 
der  affection. 


"AS    FOR    ME,    I    LOVE    HIM    NOT"  351 

"Lie  down  here  beside  me/'  Mrs.  Gerry  said. 

The  girl  obeyed  her.  She  placed  herself  by  her 
mother  and  took  her  in  her  arms.  She  also  bepame 
perfectly  quiet,  but  her  eyes  were  widely  open  all  the 
time. 

Half  an  hour  later  Salome  rose  to  get  some  medi 
cine.  When  she  had  given  it  she  said  : 

"  There  was  something  in  me  that  would  finally  have 
made  me  tell  him." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  returned  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  Are  you  ?     I  am  sorry." 

"  Oh,  Salome  !" 

"Yes,  I  am  sorry.  It  is  that  something  which  will 
take  away  all  my  happiness  from  me — all  my  happi 
ness." 

She  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  looked  fixedly  but 
blankly  at  the  face  on  the  pillow. 

"  Dear  child  !" 

Again  there  was  in  the  woman's  voice  a  cadence 
that  made  it  like  her  daughter's. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  be  happy." 

"  But  Mr.  Moore  loves  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  long 
ing  to  comfort  the  girl. 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  remark. 

In  a  moment  Salome  rose  and  busied  herself  about 
some  household  duty. 

When,  a  little  later,  Moore  came  to  the  door,  she 
told  him,  with  gentle  decision  that  was  quite  infuriat 
ing  to  him,  that  she  could  not  see  him  again  that  day. 

And  he  was  obliged  to  abide  by  that  decision.  He 
did  allow  himself  to  say  that  it  seemed  to  him  that 
she  was  torturing  him  unnecessarily,  and  that  she  ap 
peared  to  forget  that  he  loved  her.  "  Didn't  she  care 
for  his  love  ?" 


352 


THE    TWO    SALOMES 


She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  care  for  your  love." 

And  with  that  Moore  had  to  leave  her. 

This  time  he  could  not  saunter  back  to  the  Ponce 
de  Leon,  as  he  had  done  formerly.  He  could  not  go 
where  he  would  see  any  one.  To  make  it  nearly  sure 
that  he  should  be  alone,  he  hurried  to  cross  the  river 
to  that  beach  which  is  so  broad  and  long  and  silent, 
save  for  the  wave  sounds,  that  it  but  accentuates 
loneliness. 

But  Portia  Nunally  did  not  go  to  any  beach.  She 
went  directly  to  her  room  and  sat  down  there.  When 
her  aunt  sent  for  her,  she  returned  word  that  she 
would  visit  Mrs.  Darrah  by-and-by. 

When  she  did  rise  from  her  seat,  however,  she 
dressed  for  a  drive  with  Major  Root,  and  was  punc 
tual  to  the  moment  when  he  had  said  he  would  call. 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  two  returned,  the  Ma 
jor  was  so  purple  in  the  face  that  he  was  almost 
black. 

He  climbed  down  from  his  dog-cart  and  held  up  his 
pudgy  hand  to  assist  his  companion,  who  availed  her 
self  demurely  of  that  assistance. 

She  was  very  far  from  being  black  in  the  face  ;  she 
was  quite  radiant.  She  turned  to  the  Major  and 
thanked  him  very  sweetly  for  the  pleasure  he  had 
given  her  by  taking  her  to  drive. 

The  Major  took  off  his  hat  and  glowered.  Miss 
Nunally  smiled  at  him,  and  then  she  walked  up  the 
entrance  to  the  hotel. 

At  the  top  of  the  steps  she  turned  to  look  at  the 
gallant  soldier,  who  had  climbed  back  into  his  dog 
cart.  At  that  moment  the  gallant  soldier  was  lifting 
his  whip  for  a  vicious  cut  at  his  horse. 


"AS    FOR    ME,   I    LOVE    HIM    NOT  "  353 

Miss  Nunally  was  still  smiling.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  as  the  horse  made  a  leap  forward. 

"That  man  will  certainly  have  apoplexy,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

She  went  directly  to  Mrs.  Darrah's  room. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  Aunt  Florence,"  she  said. 

"Yes;  but  that  was  hours  ago.  I  don't  want  you 
now,"  was  the  response. 

"  That  makes  no  difference  ;  I  will  stay  a  few  mo 
ments.  I  have  such  a  light  heart,  my  dear  relative  !" 

Portia  sat  down  opposite  the  divan  and  began  to 
remove  her  gloves. 

"  Have  you,  indeed  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Darrah.  "  I  hope 
Major  Root  has  a  light  heart  also." 

Portia  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that.  But  I  do  know  that 
at  this  moment  he  has  an  atrociously  bad  temper." 

"  Because  of  you,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah. 

"  You  say  that  as  if  people  were  often  having  bad 
tempers  because  of  me." 

Mrs.  Darrah  did  not  reply.  She  had  a  book  in  her 
hand,  and  she  evidently  wished  that  her  niece  would 
leave  her. 

But  her  niece  was  not  going  immediately. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  why  I  have  such  a  light 
heart,  aunt  ?"  the  girl  inquired. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  "  why  have  you  such  a 
light  heart?" 

"  Because  I  have  got  rid  of  Major  Root,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  For  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  for  all  time." 

"What?" 

"  Don't  be  so  shocked.     I  haven't  killed  him  ;  he  is 


354 


THE   TWO    SALOMES 


alive ;  that  is,  he  is  alive  if  he  hasn't  died  of  apo 
plexy.  But  he  is  no  longer  mine.  Think  of  it !  He 
is  no  longer  mine  !" 

The  girl's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Portia  !"  cried  Mrs.  Darrah.  She  shut  her  book 
with  a  movement  that  was  too  forcible  to  be  lady 
like. 

"  Aunt  Florence  !"  was  the  response. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing  ?"  sternly. 

"  Certainly.  I  am  taking  off  my  gloves.  And,  by- 
the-way,  this  is  the  last  pair  of  that  last  half-dozen 
you  gave  me.  Really,  I  am  hard  on  gloves." 

"  Do  you  know,"  went  on  Mrs.  Darrah,  sitting  se 
verely  straight,  her  face  becoming  harsh — "have  you 
any  idea  what  you  are  doing,  I  say  ?  You  are  throw 
ing  away  one  of  the  best  chances  in  Augustine  this 
season.  And  you  haven't  a  cent  of  money ;  and  you 
are  getting  old — " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  aunt,  dear." 

"Yes;  you  are  getting  old,"  remorsely  repeated 
Mrs.  Darrah,  "and  every  year  your  opportunities  will 
lessen.  And  an  affair  like  this,  and  other  affairs 
you  have  had — they  all  injure  your  reputation.  And 
— and — good  heavens  ! — what  are  you  thinking  about, 
Portia  Nunally  ?" 

"  I  am  thinking  about  Micah  Root,  and  that  I  was 
a  coarse,  vulgar  little  wretch  ever  to  have  thought 
I  could  marry  him." 

This  answer  was  given  with  such  a  calm  assurance 
of  former  sin  and  present  repentance  that  Mrs.  Dar 
rah  felt  helpless  and  speechless  for  the  moment. 

Here  was  her  niece  on  her  hands  again.  She  was 
no  nearer  marriage,  apparently,  than  before  her  en 
gagement  to  Major  Root.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 


"AS    FOR    ME,   I    LOVE    HIM    NOT"  355 

"  Can't  you  write  a  note  to  him  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Dar- 
rah,  rather  weakly. 

"  A  note  to  whom  ?"  was  the  candid  counter  inqui 
ry,  given  in  Portia's  most  amiable  manner. 

Mrs.  Darrah  felt  her  wrath  rising  with  great  rapid 
ity. 

"  To  Major  Root,  of  course,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  to  him  ?"  lightly,  "  telling  him,  I  suppose,  that 
I  found,  after  all,  that  I  could  not  endure  the  idea  of 
life  without  him,  and  would  he  please  take  me  back  ? 
Is  that  what  you  mean,  Aunt  Florence  ?" 

"  Yes ;  anything,  so  that  he  takes  you  back." 

Miss  Nunally  rose  and  walked  about  the  room  with 
her  hands  clasped  behind  her.  She  was  so  white  that 
the  vivid  scarlet  of  her  lips  seemed  brighter  in  hue 
than  ever.  She  looked  excitedly  happy  also. 

After  a  moment  she  paused  in  front  of  her  aunt. 

"  I  won't  be  taken  back,"  she  said  ;  "  not  if  the  Ma 
jor  crept  on  his  knees  from  the  barracks,  and  had 
apoplexy  at  my  very  feet ;  and  all  for  love."  Here  the 
girl  laughed.  "  Why,  for  the  last  half  hour  I  have 
quite  respected  myself ;  and  I  find  it  a  delicious  sen 
sation.  Major  Root's  ring  and  his  little  gifts  are  all 
in  my  room  in  a  package,  directed  to  him.  I  tied 
the  package  before  I  went  to  drive  with  him.  It  was 
great  fun  tying  that  package.  Look  at  my  hand  "- 
she  extended  the  slender,  sensitive  left  hand — "it  is 
free ;  it  is  not  polluted  any  longer.  Oh !"  with  a 
grimace  of  disgust,  "  how  ill  it  has  made  me  to  think 
of  myself !" 

Mrs.  Darrah  sat  silent.  After  looking  at  her  for 
an  instant,  Portia  asked  : 

"  Why  don't  you  congratulate  me  ?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Mrs.  Darrah  put  this  question  : 


356  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

"  How  are  you  going  to  be  supported  ?" 

"  Perhaps  my  parents  can  give  me  bread." 

''Possibly.  But  the  gowns  and  the  gloves?  You 
know  you  are  the  most  extravagant  creature  in  the 
world." 

Portia  glanced  down  at  her  irreproachable  attire. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered.  "I  certainly  am 
not  going  to  wear  ugly  frocks.  Somebody  must  clothe 
me." 

"And  you  can't  work." 

"  Impossible  !  But  don't  you  think  the  conversa 
tion  is  drifting  into  a  disagreeable  channel  ?"  asked 
Portia. 

"  Yes,  quite  disagreeable,"  was  the  response  ;  "  and 
I  insist  on  your  writing  a  note  to  Major  Root." 

Portia  stood  haughtily  erect. 

"  You  know  very  well,  aunt,"  she  said,  "  that  people 
do  not  insist  with  me." 

"  But  you  are  mad.  The  season  is  more  than  half 
over,  and  if  you  don't  settle  this  season  I  really  will 
do  nothing  more  for  you." 

Portia  drew  near  her  aunt.  She  put  one  knee  on  a 
footstool  close  to  Mrs.  Darrah,  and  leaned  against 
her. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  you  are  not  going  to  be  a  wick 
ed,  hard-hearted  woman,  are  you  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  am." 

Miss  Nunally  smiled.  It  was  a  curious  fact  that 
though  the  elder  woman  knew  she  was  being  cajoled, 
and  knew  it  perfectly  well,  she  did  not  resent  the 
fact.  More  than  that,  there  was  something  about  her 
niece's  personality  that  made  her  rather  enjoy  having 
her  near  her  in  that  way,  and  looking  at  her  with  the 
saucy,  attractive  face. 


"AS    FOR    ME,   I    LOVE    HIM    NOT"  357 

"  If,  after  all,  Aunt  Florence,  I  am  an  old  maid — a 
poor,  wrinkled  old  maid  who  has  missed  the  one  des 
tiny  for  which  a  woman  is  fitted — will  you  not  give  me, 
now  and  then,  money  enough  so  I  needn't  dress  like 
a  fright  ?  Only  think !  Wouldn't  you  try  to  soften 
the  fate  of  a  woman  who  is  denied  the  privilege  of  be 
ing  the  wife  of  some  man,  and  of  sitting  in  that  sweet, 
safe  corner  by  the  household  fire,  behind  the  heads  of 
children,  and — and  mending  his  stockings  ?  \Yhen 
you  see  me  growing  old,  and  without  any  man's  stock 
ings  to  mend,  won't  you  do  something  for  me  ?" 

Portia  rose  suddenly,  and  began  prancing  about  the 
room  and  singing  in  a  sentimental  voice  : 

"  I   have  written  the  letter 
Which  \\ill  tell  him  he  is  free." 

At  this  point  she  paused  in  her  prancing  and  her 
song  to  say  : 

"  No\v,  you  see,  one  of  those  other  girls  who  wanted 
Major  Root  may  have  him ;  and  joy  go  with  her. 
As  for  me,  I  love  him  not." 

"  Portia,"  said  Mrs.  Darrah,  smiling  a  little. 

"  Ma'am  ?"  said  Portia,  promptly. 

"  Hand  me  my  blue  note-book.  At  last  you  have 
given  me  a  scrap  of  material." 

"  Dear  aunt,''  remarked  the  girl  as  she  brought  the 
book,  "  I  am  glad  to  have  furnished  you  material, 
even  though  in  furnishing  it  I  have  lost  a  husband." 

She  went  out  at  the  door.  ]}ut  she  returned  im 
mediately  to  say  "Adieu,"  with  the  exaggerated  tone 
and  accent  of  an  actress  who  comes  back  to  the  stage 
to  bid  farewell  again  to  her  lover,  who  has  waited  in 
position  near  the  right  centre  for  that  farewell. 


XX 

"  HE    WILL    COME    BACK  ?" 

MRS.  GERRY  began  to  mend.  Her  improvement 
appeared  to  be  more  a  matter  of  will  than  of  anything 
else.  She  must  get  well.  Her  daughter  needed  her. 
It  would  have  been  impossible  for  the  mother  to  die 
then.  And  she  remembered  that  she  had  always  been 
told  that  she  had  the  Ware  constitution.  It  was  now 
that  the  Ware  constitution  asserted  itself. 

The  period  of  absolute  physical  rest  had  enabled 
her  to  regain  her  grasp  on  strength.  In  a  week  she 
could  sit  propped  up  in  the  bed.  Moore  was  lavish 
in  his  kindness.  Strengthening  delicacies,  flowers, 
everything  the  young  man  could  think  of  which  could 
help  the  invalid  or  amuse  her,  he  brought  out  to  the 
hut.  And  in  all  this  week  he  had  had  no  word  alone 
with  Salome.  She  told  him  that  she  did  not  wish  to 
leave  her  mother  for  a  moment.  Her  mother  might 
want  something. 

The  girl  shrank  from  her  lover  with  a  terror  that 
she  could  not  conceal.  And  when  she  believed  that 
she  was  not  observed  she  watched  his  face  with  an 
intentness  that  was  piteous. 

And  her  mother  watched  her ;  and  as  she  watched, 
Mrs.  Gerry  prayed  with  a  kind  of  imperious  agony 
that  she  might  have  strength,  and  yet  more  strength. 
For  she  would  need  it  all.  she  was  sure. 


"HE  WILL  COME  HACK.?"  359 

The  two  women  talked  no  more  about  the  forgery 
during  that  week.  But  they  talked  a  great  deal  in  an 
impersonal,  extremely  cheerful  manner. 

And  Mrs.  Gerry  gained  every  day.  In  the  begin 
ning  of  the  second  week  she  was  able  to  "  be  about 
the  house,"  as  she  would  have  said;  but  mostly  she 
sat  wrapped  up  in  a  blanket  in  the  sunshine  at  the 
door.  And  Salome  sat  by  her,  sometimes  reading  to 
her,  but  oftener  silent,  looking  out  among  the  pine- 
trees. 

It  was  here  that  Moore  found  them  for  several 
days.  He  also  would  sit  down.  He  took  his  place  on 
the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Gerry.  He  would  make  several 
brave  attempts  at  talk  ;  then  he  would  subside  into 
silence.  In  this  silence  he  tried  not  to  look  at  Salome  ; 
but  it  always  ended  in  his  fixing  his  eyes  beseeching 
ly  on  her,  and  appearing  to  forget  that  he  and  she 
were  not  alone  together. 

One  day,  in  the  last  of  the  week,  while  the  three  sat 
there  in  the  sunshine,  they  saw  a  tall  man  making  his 
way  slowly  to  them. 

Salome  knew  directly  that  it  was  Walter  Redd,  and 
presently  Mrs.  Gerry  exclaimed  : 

"Why,  it's  Walter!" 

Redd  came  and  shook  hands  with  them  all  in  his 
somewhat  ponderous  fashion.  He  said  he  wouldn't 
sit  down  ;  he  couldn't  stop  ;  but  he  had  just  come 
from  his  trip  through  Florida,  and  he  wanted  to  know 
how  Mrs.  Gerry  was.  He  was  glad  enough  to  find 
she  was  better ;  he  had  been  sure  she  would  pull 
through. 

As  he  talked  on  about  orange  groves,  and  land  and 
investments,  he  often  gave  a  long,  questioning  gaze 
into  Moore's  face. 


360  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

Moore  began  to  resent  this  gaze,  though  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  hostile  in  it.  But  Moore  was 
by  this  time  in  a  frame  of  mind  when  he  felt  himself 
hardly  responsible  for  anything  he  might  do.  He  had 
been  suffering  for  many  days.  He  had  slept  little. 
There  were  times  when  he  was  desperate  with  the 
uncertainty,  and  with  the  thronging,  terrible  thoughts 
upon  him. 

Salome  was  as  evasive,  as  unsatisfactory,  as  if  she 
were  a  sprite,  and  not  flesh  and  blood  at  all. 

In  those  days  Moore  felt  himself  growing  old.  He 
could  hardly  recognize  himself.  He  gave  up  his  busi 
ness  entirely.  He  could  think  of  nothing  but  that 
girl,  and  what  she  had  told  him.  His  heart  longed 
for  her  and  turned  towards  her  with  an  entirely  un 
governable  impulse.  But  his  judgment — Moore  reso 
lutely  thrust  his  judgment  into  the  background,  and 
it  was  only  now  and  then  that  it  loomed  up  too 
prominently,  like  a  spectre  that  would  some  day  assert 
itself. 

His  naturally  chivalric  feeling  towards  all  women 
was  now  concentrated  into  an  unspeakable  tender 
ness  towards  one  woman  whom  he  wished  to  defend 
and  protect,  even  against  herself.  What  mattered  it 
about  his  judgment  ? 

And  Salome  held  herself  austerely  aloof.  Every 
morning  and  every  night  he  asked  himself  how  long 
she  would  be  like  that.  He  would  have  tried  to  break 
impetuously  through  this  guard  if  there  had  not  been 
a  certain  beseeching  phase  in  the  girl's  attitude.  It 
was  as  if  she  asked  that  he  should  be  her  ally  in 
whatever  she  wished  to  do. 

Now  when  Redd  said  he  must  go  back  to  the  city, 
he  turned  towards  Moore  and  asked  if  he  would  go 


"HE    WILL    COME    HACK?''  361 

then  ;  Redd  added  that  he  particularly  wished  to  see 
him. 

Moore  rose  in  a  kind  of  sullen  acquiescence ;  and 
to  be  anything  like  sullen  showed  how  keenly  he  had 
been  suffering. 

He  turned  towards  Salome,  but  she  only  bowed 
gravely  to  him,  as  if  to  intimate  that  he  might  better  go. 

As  the  two  young  men  walked  away  Mrs.  Gerry 
took  the  girl's  hand  between  her  own  hot,  dry  palms. 

"  Salome,"  she  said,  anxiously,  "  what  are  you 
doing  ?" 

Salome  endeavored  to  draw  herself  up. 

"  I  ?"  she  asked  ;  "  I  am  doing  nothing." 

"  But  you  don't  let  Mr.  Moore  have  a  chance." 

Salome  shivered.  Then  she  rose  and  stood  with 
her  back  to  her  mother. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  can  bear  to  see  him  alone," 
she  said. 

"But  he  wants  a  talk  with  you  ;  an  explanation." 

"There  can  be  no  explanation,"  was  the  response. 

"  You  cannot  tell  that.  It  is  unfair  not  to  let  him 
see  you." 

"Unfair?"  Salome  wheeled  about.  "Then  I  will 
see  him.  But  I  know  it  all  now." 

"  lie  loves  you,  Salome." 

The  mother's  voice,  however,  was  very  sad  as  it 
pronounced  those  words. 

The  girl  stood  silent  an  instant  before  she  was  able 
to  say  : 

"  Yes,  I  think  he  does  love  me.  And  you  love  me, 
mother,  but  you  do  not  respect  me." 

Notwithstanding  all  her  self-command,  Mrs.  Gerry, 
as  she  heard  and  saw  her  child  at  this  moment,  gave 
an  audible  <rroan. 


362  THE   TWO    SALOMES 

She  leaned  her  head  back  and  shut  her  eyes. 

Salome  drew  yet  nearer. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  you  never  lie  ;  you  never  pre 
varicate.  Answer  me  this  :  Do  you  respect  me  ?" 

Mrs.  Gerry's  lips  grew  stiff,  but  at  last  they  obeyed 
her. 

"  Salome,  I  know  you  are  not  base.  I  am  your 
mother,  and  I  know  you  are  not  base." 

The  woman  suddenly  extended  her  arms,  and  with 
a  swift  access  of  strength  she  drew  the  girl  into 
them. 

Mrs.  Gerry  began  to  sob,  and  she  could  not  at  first 
check  those  sobs.  Now  at  last  she  felt  as  if  her 
heart  would  break  because  of  Salome's  unhappiness, 
and  more  because  of  the  girl's  lack  of  genuine  recti 
tude. 

In  that  brief  time,  while  she  feebly  held  the  young 
head  against  her  breast,  a  process  of  reasoning  flashed 
through  her  mind.  In  these  days  she  was  always 
reasoning  about  the  girl  in  the  hope  that  she  might 
arrive  at  some  solid  justification  of  Salome's  actions. 
Was  there  not  a  moral  diathesis  as  there  was  said  to 
be  a  physical  diathesis,  and  how  accountable  was  one 
who — here  the  woman's  thoughts  grew  incoherent. 
What  justification  was  there  for  falsehood  ?  What 
could  one  build  upon  a  shifting  foundation  ? 

"You  do  not  answer  me,"  said  Salome.  She  with 
drew  herself  from  her  mother's  embrace.  "  It  is 
enough  that  you  have  hesitated." 

She  knelt  by  her  mother's  knees  and  put  her  face 
in  her  mother's  lap.  She  appeared  weak  and  pros 
trated. 

With  her  face  still  in  that  position,  she  said : 

"  I    can   endure   from   you,   because    you    are   my 


UHK    WILL    COME    BACK?"  363 

mother,  what  I  couldn't  endure  from  a  lover.  But  it 
is  hard  from  you." 

Mrs.  Gerry  gasped  in  an  agony  of  silence. 

The  vision  of  her  child's  future  passed  now  plainly 
before  her  eyes.  She  was  asking  if  Salome  had  that 
power  of  self-sacrifice  which  is  so  spontaneous,  so 
almost  involuntary,  in  some  feminine  natures. 

And  Mrs.  (Jerry  could  not  say  anything,  for  in  her 
secret  soul  she  sympathized  with  her  daughter  in  this. 
First  and  foremost,  Mrs.  Gerry  felt  that  she  must  be 
respected.  But  if  she  were  not  worthy  of  respect,  she 
must  do  without  love.  She  knew  that  this  was  what 
was  in  Salome's  mind.  But  would  it  endure  in  Sa 
lome's  mind  ?  And  she  could  say  nothing.  But  this 
phase  of  character  Salome  had  not  inherited  from 
that  ancestor  whose  traits  were  so  impressed  upon 
her;  this  phase  was  a  tincture  of  New  England 
blood. 

The  two  young  men  who  had  left  the  cabin  to 
gether  walked  on  for  some  distance  without  speaking. 
Moore  had  no  wish  to  speak.  He  strode  on  with  his 
head  bent,  brooding  upon  the  one  subject,  and  he 
almost  forgot  that  he  had  a  companion  until  Redd 
spoke. 

"  Maybe,"  said  Redd,  "you'll  say  I've  no  right,  but 
I  guess  I'll  venture  to  take  the  right,  anyway." 

He  stopped  in  his  walk  in  such  a  way  that  Moore 
was  compelled  to  stop  also. 

"  Well,  go  ahead,"  said  Moore,  impatiently. 

His  thoughts  were  a  torture  to  him,  but  he  was 
indignant  if  any  one  intruded  upon  him  and  pre 
vented  that  constant  dwelling  of  his  mind  upon  the 
one  theme. 

Redd  was  very  slow,  and  he  did  not  speak  immecli- 


364  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

ately.  Moore  kicked  at  a  palmetto  stump  with  some 
viciousness  as  he  stood  and  waited. 

But  nothing  was  likely  to  hurry  Redd.  When  he 
was  quite  ready  to  speak  he  squared  round  upon 
Moore,  taking  in  as  he  did  so  the  bright  attractive 
ness  of  Moore's  aspect.  That  aspect  was  cloudy 
enough  now,  but  Redd  perceived,  with  a  smouldering 
anger,  how  bright  and  winning  it  was  natural  for 
Moore  to  be.  And  as  he  took  this  in  he  had  a  crush 
ing  sense  of  the  difference  there  was  between  them. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  going  to 
marry  Salome." 

"  That  is  my  intention,"  was  the  answer. 

"  I  haven't  got  anything  to  say  about  that,"  re 
turned  Redd,  heavily,  "  but  I  want  to  look  into  things  a 
little.  I  ain't  going  home  till  she  looks  different  from 
what  she  does  now — that  is,  I  don't  think  I  shall." 

"I  don't  know  what  right  you  have — "  began  Moore, 
hotly. 

He  found  that  his  temper  was  like  tinder  in  these 
days. 

"  It  ain't  worth  while  for  you  to  get  mad,"  now  re 
marked  Redd.  "  I  don't  know  as  I  care  particularly 
whether  I  have  what  you  call  any  right  or  not.  But  I 
love  Salome  Gerry." 

"  I  was  sure  of  it !"  interjected  Moore,  savagely. 

"  All  right,  be  sure  of  it,"  was  the  response.  "  It 
doesn't  harm  her  to  have  me  love  her  ;  and  she  never 
pretended  to  love  me  any.  She  loves  you.  Now, 
what  I  want  to  know  is :  are  you  up  to  anything 
that  is  making  her  wretched  ?  Tell  me  that." 

Redd's  eyes  burned  deeply  as  he  spoke.  But  he 
stood  with  perfect  quiet,  his  figure  looking  large  in 
the  sunlight. 


"HE    WILL    COME    BACK?"  365 

Moore  plunged  his  hands  into  his  pockets.  His 
face  was  crimson.  He  lowered  himself  to  a  subter 
fuge. 

"  You  seem  to  forget  that  she  is  grieving  for  her 
father,"  he  said. 

He  could  no  longer  dispute  Redd's  right.  And  he 
was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  this  somewhat  un 
couth  man  from  the  country  had  a  power  of  presence 
and  personality. 

"It  ain't  that,"  said  Redd;  "you  know  it  ain't 
that  I  mean.  It's  something  about  you.  Something 
is  wrong." 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  Moore,  with  some  violence,"  some 
thing  is  wrong ;  but  it's  nothing  I've  done.  I  am 
waiting  and  hoping  to  have  a  word  with  her.  Can't 
you  see  I'm  so  wretched  myself  that  I'm  almost  ready 
to  put  a  bullet  into  my  head  ?" 

Moore,  in  spite  of  himself,  was  so  conscious  of  the 
genuineness  of  the  man  before  him  that  he  spoke 
differently  from  what'  he  had  intended. 

"  You  give  me  your  word  that  it  ain't  any  fault  of 
yours  ?" 

Redd  looked  at  Moore  with  unswerving,  stern  gaze. 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  said  Moore.  Then  he 
laughed.  "  You  see,  I  let  you  catechise  me.  But  I 
should  like  to  know  what  you  would  do  about  it, 
anyway?" 

A  dark  flush  came  into  Redd's  face. 

"It's  no  matter,"  he  said  at  last,  "what  I'd  do. 
l!ut  I'd  make  this  world  an  uncommon  bad  place  for 
anybody  that  did  her  any  harm.  Ikit  I  believe  you. 
A  fellow's  got  to  believe  you,  somehow.  I'm  glad  of 
it,  since  she  cares  for  you.  It  must  be  a  solemn  thing 
to  be  loved  as  Salome  loves  you." 


366  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

Redd  turned  away.  After  an  instant  of  silence 
Moore  came  closer  to  him.  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Will  you  shake  hands  with  me,  Redd  ?''  he  asked. 

The  two  men  clasped  hands. 

Then  they  walked  on  towards  the  city. 

But  Moore  could  not  stay  in  Augustine.  He  tried 
boating  as  a  panacea  which  sometimes  had  power. 
To-day,  however,  he  could  not  endure  to  stay  on  the 
river,  and  in  half  an  hour  he  was  at  the  wharf  and 
had  thrown  his  oars  down  with  relief. 

As  he  stood  there  a  party  came  down  to  go  out  in 
a  yacht.  He  saw  Miss  Nunally  among  the  group. 
She  looked  towards  him  and  smiled.  He  suddenly 
walked  up  to  her.  She  knew,  and  she  was  a  woman 
with  exquisite  perceptions.  Women  understood ;  and 
they  were  so  sympathetic.  It  would  be  a  great  relief 
to  him,  Moore  thought,  if  he  might  spend  the  next 
hour  with  Miss  Nunally.  Perhaps  he  could  then 
endure  the  time  until  he  could  go  out  to  that  cabin 
again. 

There  was  very  little  of  the  stoic  about  Moore. 
He  craved  sympathy  almost  as  a  woman  might  crave 
it. 

"Are  you  going  with  all  these  people?"  he  asked, 
abruptly. 

"  I  was  going,"  was  the  answer. 

"Then  do  a  deed  of  charity  and  come  with  me. 
Please  come  with  me.  I  shall  be  a  miserable  com 
panion,  though  ;  I  warn  you  of  that." 

Moore  was  conscious  of  a  decided  feeling  of  grati 
tude  when  Miss  Nunally  turned  to  her  friends  and 
explained  that  she  was  asked  to  do  a  deed  of  charity, 
and  that  a  deed  of  charity  was  something  that  brought 
its  own  reward. 


"HE    WILL    COME    BACK?"  367 

The  next  moment  Moore  had  handed  her  into  the 
boat  he  had  just  left.  He  pushed  off  into  the  river, 
while  Portia  waved  her  handkerchief  at  the  yachting 
party. 

"This  is  so  kind  of  you,"  Moore  said,  when  they 
were  well  away. 

"  It  is  not  so  difficult  to  be  kind  to  you,  Mr. 
Moore,1'  was  the  response. 

Miss  Nunally  met  his  rather  absent  gaze  with  a 
look  of  simple  well-wishing  which  had  a  faint  com 
forting  power  upon  the  young  man. 

Moore  endeavored  to  rouse  himself.  He  must  not 
be  merely  a  lump  of  flesh  in  this  girl's  presence. 

"  Why  do  you  try  to  talk  ?''  asked  Portia,  kindly. 
"  It  is  not  necessary.  You  look  as  if  you  were  suffer 
ing,  Mr.  Moore.  Let  us  be  silent.  Row  wherever 
you  please  ;  it  is  always  a  pleasure  for  me  to  be  on 
the  water." 

For  a  long  time  Moore  simply  obeyed  her.  He 
was  soothed  by  her  mere  presence  and  by  the  knowl 
edge  that  she  understood.  He  need  not  tell  her ; 
she  understood. 

The  lines  in  his  forehead  grew  less  deep.  His 
whole  attitude  relaxed.  He  was  not  thinking  of  Miss 
Nunally  at  all.  She  knew  this  fact  perfectly.  She 
did  not  look  at  him,  but  she  saw  the  change  in  him. 

She  sat  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  boat,  her 
parasol  over  her  head,  her  face  calm,  a  faint  glow 
in  her  eyes,  the  white  roses  in  her  corsage  moving 
gently  in  the  wind  and  exhaling  their  fragrance 
lavishly. 

At  last  Moore  glanced  at  his  companion  with  eyes 
that  were  a  little  less  strained.  Then  Miss  Nunally 
spoke. 


368  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  Does  she  know  how  you  suffer  ?"  she  asked. 

The  young  man  threw  up  his  head  as  if  a  deep 
breath  might  have  a  restorative  power.  He  looked 
wistfully  at  Portia. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  slowly,  resting  upon  his 
oars.  "  She  is  very  unhappy.  But  I  don't  know  much 
about  women  ;  they  are  so  strange.  I  think  Salome 
has  some  strange  idea  in  her  head.  I  can't  tell  what 
it  is.  I  have  a  suspicion,  though." 

Moore  now  drew  in  his  oars  and  leaned  his  arms 
on  his  knees.  He  was  gazing  steadily  just  beyond 
the  girl  in  front  of  him. 

"  And  what  are  your  suspicions  ?"  she  inquired. 

"That  she  will  want  to  break  our  engagement," 
was  the  reply. 

Portia  suddenly  lowered  her  eyes.  She  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  lips.  But  she  responded  di 
rectly  : 

"  Not  because  she  does  not  love  you  ?"  she  said. 

"No,"  he  said,  slowly;  "it  is  not  conceited  in  me 
to  think  she  loves  me.  But  women  are  so  different 
from  men.  Sometimes  I  think  they  don't  know  how 
to  love." 

No  answer  to  this  remark.  Moore  still  continued 
to  gaze  beyond  Miss  Nunally  ;  and  Miss  Nunally,  who 
was  not  accustomed  to  having  men  gaze  beyond  her, 
still  continued  to  bear  this  attitude  of  her  companion 
with  apparent  calm. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  women  know  how  to  love  ?" 
questioned  Moore. 

But  he  did  not  wait  for  any  reply.  He  went  on  im 
mediately  : 

"  I  have  suffered  more  within  the  last  few  days 
than  I  can  ever  suffer  again.  My  mind  is  one  hor- 


"HE    WILL    COME    BACK?"  369 

rible  chaos.    There  is  only  one  thing  I  clearly  know — 
only  one  thing." 

"  And  that  is — "  as  the  speaker  hesitated. 

"  That  I  love  her.  No  matter  what  she  has  done, 
I  love  her." 

Miss  Nunally  bent  down  as  if  to  pick  up  something 
from  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  Have  you  assured  her  of  that?'''  she  inquired,  in  a 
clear  voice. 

"  I  have  had  no  opportunity.  You  know  how  ill 
her  mother  has  been." 

Moore  took  his  oars  and  began  to  row  again. 

After  a  time  Miss  Nunally  said  : 

"  Perhaps  we  might  better  go  back  to  the  wharf." 

Without  answering,  Moore  turned  and  began  to  row 
towards  the  city.  As  they  drew  near  he  looked  at  her 
with  a  glance  which  for  the  first  time  really  saw  her. 

"  How  tired  you  are  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  can't  for 
give  myself  for  having  bored  you  so." 

"  You  haven't  bored  me,"  she  answered. 

"  Truly,  haven't  I  ?  You  are  so  good,  Miss  Nu 
nally.  And  you  have  helped  me  so  much.  You  have 
helped  me  so  by  just  letting  me  be  with  you,  don't 
you  know.  And  you  know  all  about  it.  Miss  Nu 
nally,"  with  vibrating  earnestness,  "  I  wish  you  were 
going  to  be  happy.  But  you  never  will  be  happy  if 
you  marry  that  man.  And  you  don't  even  pretend  to 
love  him,  do  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  don't  even  pretend  to  love  him,"  now 
meeting  her  companion's  eyes.  "And  I  am  not  going 
to  marry  him,  Mr.  Moore." 

"  Ah  !"  with  a  start  of  interest. 

Moore  again  pulled  in  his  oars.     He  held  out  his 
hand.     As  she  put  hers  within  it  she  said  : 
24 


370  THE    TWO    SALOMES 

"  I  couldn't  do  it,  after  all.  And  I  could  not  for 
get  what  you  said,  Mr.  Moore,  about  such  things. 
Now  you  will  congratulate  me,  won't  you  ?" 

She  did  not  allow  her  hand  to  remain  an  instant 
in  his. 

"  Indeed  yes,  I  congratulate  you,"  impressively. 

Then  Moore  began  to  row,  and  his  face  clouded 
over  deeply  again. 

When  the  two  parted  on  the  Plaza  the  young  man 
thanked  the  girl  again  for  her  kindness,  his  eyes 
dwelling  on  her  with  a  half  absent  but  wholly  wretched 
expression.  And  she  said  nothing. 

In  an  hour  he  was  out  at  the  cabin  again,  going 
this  time  with  a  well-defined  resolution  not  to  leave 
until  he  had  had  an  interview  with  Salome. 

He  was  somewhat  surprised  to  see  her  coming  to 
meet  him.  She  left  her  mother  sitting  at  the  door  of 
the  cabin.  She  glanced  back  at  that  figure  which 
now  did  not  lean  back  in  its  chair  any  more.  With 
the  first  strength  she  had  Mrs.  Gerry  ceased  "to  loll." 
She  sat  now  upright  and  watched  her  daughter  as  she 
went  towards  Moore.  Salome  had  said  nothing,  and 
her  mother  had  given  no  advice.  She  felt  that  this 
was  a  matter  solely  between  these  two,  and  that  she 
could  not  advise. 

She  noted  the  subdued  eagerness  with  which  Moore 
greeted  the  girl.  She  saw  them  walk  away  among 
the  trees,  with  Jack  following  sedately  a  few  feet  be 
hind  them. 

Then,  after  a  while,  the  woman  went  and  laid  her 
self  on  the  bed.  But  she  had  been  there  but  a  few 
moments,  she  thought,  when  the  hound  came  in  his 
sober  way  in  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Gerry  rose  hurriedly. 
She  looked  out  among  the  pines  and  saw  Salome 


"HE    WILL    COME    RACK?"  371 

coming  alone.  Jack  went  back  to  her  and  ranged 
himself  behind  her. 

Salome  came  straight  on  until  she  reached  the 
house.  Her  mother  hastened  to  meet  her. 

"Well?"  she  said,  her  heart  sinking. 

"  He  has  gone,"  said  Salome.  But  she  had  hardly 
spoken  when  Moore  came  rapidly  towards  them.  He 
went  directly  to  Mrs.  Gerry,  taking  both  her  hands. 
She  had  never  seen  him  look  like  this  in  the  least. 

"  I'm  going,"  he  began.  He  stopped  suddenly. 
Then  he  began  again.  "I'm  going,  because  she  in 
sists  upon  it.  She  says  she  knows  she  is  right.  She 
says  she  knows  herself  so  well  that  she  knows  she  is 
right.  Well — "  he  again  found  himself  unable  to  go 
on.  But  he  waited  until  he  could  say,  "  I  can't  prove 
that  she  is  wrong.  But  I  love  her.  She  cannot  make 
me  promise  not  to  come  back.  Good-bye." 

When  he  had  gone,  Salome,  still  standing  by  her 
mother,  said,  with  an  appearance  of  calmness  : 

"  I  want  to  say  what  I  have  to  say  now  ;  for  I 
can't  go  on  talking  about  it.  I  knew  he  couldn't 
respect  me  fully  ;  and  he  couldn't  tell  me  he  could. 
He  said  he  was  bewildered,  confused.  He  said  he 
was  sure  of  one  thing  :  that  he  loved  me  and  wanted 
me  for  his  wife."  A  pause.  Presently  the  girl's  voice 
went  on  again  :  "  In  his  place  I  should  have  lied  and 
asserted  that  I  felt  respect,  that  what  I  had  done  did 
not  really  stain  me,  and  so  on.  But  he  could  not. 
And  I  told  him  I  had  tendencies  which  I  could  not 
control,  and  which  were  not — I  think  1  said  were  not — 
honest,  and  that  they  would  make  him  unhappy.  I 
told  him — but  it  makes  no  difference.  He  has  gone. 
Mother  !" — with  a  sudden  sharp  intonation — "  he  has 
irone  !" 


372  THE   TWO   SALOMES 

"  But  he  will  come  back  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gerry. 

"  Will  he  ?  But  how  can  I  change  ?  How  can  I 
be  a  different  woman  ?" 

Salome  looked  at  her  mother  with  a  tremor  of 
passionate  inquiry. 

But  the  tremor  subsided  instantly.  She  was  too 
spent  with  what  she  had  just  suffered  to  feel  intensely 
now.  Before  Mrs.  Gerry  could  think  of  any  reply, 
Salome  said,  with  a  kind  of  dull  abruptness  : 

"  Miss  Nunally  loves  him." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  quickly. 

"  I  don't  know  it ;  but  I  believe  it." 

There  was  nothing  to  respond  to  this. 

The  two  stood  there  together  at  the  door  of  the 
cabin.  They  stood  in  the  full  light  of  the  sun. 

Salome  turned  towards  the  woman  beside  her. 

"  It  is  you  and  I,  mother,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Gerry,  "you  and  I,  with  God  to 
help  us." 

She  stood  erect.  She  put  her  arm  about  her  daugh 
ter,  who  also  stood  erect,  with  a  difference. 

Above  them  some  black  spots  came  moving  on 
from  towards  St.  Augustine.  Salome  saw  these  mov 
ing  things.  She  became  yet  paler. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  there  are  the  crows.  They 
fly  between  me  and  the  sun.  But  it  is  no  matter." 


THE    END 


BY  MARIA  LOUISE  POOL. 


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CHARLES  DUDLEY  WAHNEK. 

AS  WE  WERE  SAYING.  With  Portrait,  and  Illustrated  by 
II.  W.  McViCKAR  and  Others.  16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  00. 
So  dainty  and  delightsome  a  little  book  may  it  be  everybody's  good 

hap  to  possess. — Evangelist,  N.  Y. 
Who  but  Mr.  Warner  could  dangle  these  trifles  so  gracefully  before 

the  mind  and  make  their  angles  flash  out  new  and  hidden  meanings  ?— 

Critic,  N.  Y. 

OUR   ITALY.      Illustrated.      8vo,  Cloth,   Ornamental,   Uncut 
Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $2  50. 

In  this  book  are  a  little  history,  a  little  prophecy,  a  few  fascinating 
statistics,  many  interesting  facts,  much  practical  suggestion,  and 
abundant  humor  and  charm. — Eoanyelist,  N.  Y. 

A  LITTLE  JOURNEY  IN  THE   WORLD.     A  Novel.     Post 
8vo,  Half  Leather,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $1  50. 
The  vigor  and  vividness  of  the  tale  and  its  sustained  interest  are  not 
its  only  or  its  chief  merits.     It  is  a  study  of  American  life  of  to-day, 
possessed  with  shrewd  insight  and  fidelity.— GEOKGK  WILLIAM  CUBTIS. 
A  powerful  picture  of  that  phase  of  modern  life  in  which  unscrupu 
lously  acquired  capital  is  the  chief  agent. — Boston  Post. 

STUDIES  IN  THE  SOUTH  AND  WEST,  with  Comments  on 
Canada.     Post  8vo,  Half  Leather,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top, 
$1  75. 
Perhaps  the  most  accurate  and  graphic  account  of  these  portions  of 

the  country  that  has  appeared,  taken  all  in  all.  ...  A  bookj  most 

charming — a  book  that  no  American  can  fail  to  enjoy,  appreciate,  and 

highly  prize.— Boston  Traveller. 

THEIR  PILGRIMAGE.    Richly  Illustrated  by  C  .S.  KEINHART. 

Post  8vo,  Half  Leather,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $2  00. 

Mr.  Warner's  pen-pictures  of  the  characters  typical  of  each  resort, 
of  the  manner  of  life  followed  at  each,  of  the  humor  and  absurdities 
peculiar  to  Saratoga,  or  Newport,  or  Bar  Harbor,  as  the  case  may.be, 
are  as  good-natured  as  they  are  clever.  The  satire,  when  there  is  any, 
is  of  the  mildest,  and  the  general  tone  is  that  of  one  glad  to  look  on 
the  brightest  side  of  the  cheerful, "pleasure-seeking  world  with  which 
he  mingles.— Christian  Union,  N.  Y. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

f^~Anyofthc  above  n-orkswill  be  Kent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


DATE  DUE 


PRINTED  IN  USA 


A  '•""Hill  I     IIHIIIIJ 

000554525 


